Into Thin Air
by fvhardy
Summary: The murder of a wealthy scientist leaves the team with more questions than answers. Then one of their own vanishes without a trace from the scene and the CSI’s are plunged into a horrifying and brutal world of human experimentation....
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Nice digs," Warrick commentated as he steered the Tahoe up the long, narrow driveway. "Are you sure this guy was a Scientist?"

"Top genetics specialist in Vegas," Catherine replied, not even looking up from her notes. "Made a lot of very important breakthroughs in his field."

"Enough to be able to afford a house like this?" Warrick queried incredulously as he neatly parked the SUV.

Catherine glanced up at the house and raised her eyebrows slightly. The house was a large, two-story structure that sprawled in a colossal L-shape across magnificent grounds. "Maybe Grissom call fill us in," she said. "He seemed to know a lot about the victim when he called."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" Warrick muttered, climbing out of the Tahoe.

As they crossed under the yellow crime scene tape and made their way up to the house, Warrick tried to suppress a yawn. It was supposed to have been his night off when Grissom had called at six in the morning to tell him that he was needed at a crime scene. Warrick could now see why; the house and grounds were huge. It was going to take hours to process this scene.

They entered the house and found themselves in a large, marble hallway. Grissom stood at the foot of the stairs talking with Detective Brass. Catherine and Warrick joined them quickly.

"Hey guys," Warrick greeted them. "What's the deal on our vic?"

"I'm a little curious about that too," Catherine admitted. "Scientist in a house this size? Did he win the lottery or something?"

"Dr. John Abrahms, fifty-nine," Brass informed her. "His parents left him a substantial sum of money when they died. Then he married Marjorie Prescott whose father owns one of the largest private shipping companies in the country; made Abrahms one of the richest men in the state. His butler showed up for work this morning and found him stabbed in the gut, called the police straight away."

"His _butler_ found him? Sounds like a bad Agatha Christie novel to me. What about his wife?" asked Warrick.

"Died two years ago," Brass told him. "He lived here alone."

"Explains why the butler found him," said Catherine. "Any sign of forced entry?"

Brass shook his head. "According to the butler, he locks up and sets the alarm every evening before he goes. When he showed up for work this morning, the alarm was still on and everything was undisturbed…no windows or doors left open."

"Great, so we're dealing with a locked room mystery!" Warrick groaned. "This is getting more Agatha Christie by the minute.

"Where's the body?" asked Catherine.

"Upstairs," Brass answered. "I'm just waiting for my guys to finish clearing the house."

"They're still clearing it?" said Catherine, surprised.

"Hey, it's a big house," Brass replied. "You should see the size of the wine cellar this guy has in his basement."

Just then, one of the senior officers joined them. "Detective?" he addressed Brass. "The house is clear."

"Thanks."

"Well," Grissom spoke up, "shall we go see what Dr. Abrahms has to tell us?"

They made their way upstairs and Brass led them to one end of the L-shaped corridor. "Butler found him in here," Brass told them. "Apparently Abrahms often stayed up all night working, so this is usually the first room he checks."

Entering the room, the CSI's found themselves in a rather impressive lab. "No wonder this guy made breakthroughs if he had a private lab like this," commented Warrick in a low voice.

"John Abrahms financed all of his own work," said Grissom. "Probably because it meant no outside interference in his research."

"Meaning he wouldn't have to share the credit with anyone whenever he made a breakthrough," said Catherine cynically.

"He may have been an egotist," Grissom admitted, "but his research has done a lot for genetics."

They made their way towards the centre of the room where the body of John Abrahms was propped in a chair.

"He's been tied to the chair," Warrick noted. "Maybe to keep the body in a seated position?"

Grissom shook his head. "I don't think so. Look at the position of the body and the direction of the blood flow."

"He was stabbed in the chair," Catherine guessed.

"Exactly," Grissom nodded. "And there's no sign of a struggle. So the question we must ask ourselves is how did the killer get him into the chair?"

"Hey, what did we miss?" a voice called from behind them and they turned to see Nick, Sara and Greg standing in the doorway.

"John Abrahms, tied to a chair and stabbed in the stomach," Grissom responded.

"Man," Greg shook his head as he, Nick and Sara joined the others by the body. "I never thought I'd see John Abrahms go like this. He's going to be a big loss to genetic research."

"You've heard of this guy?" asked Warrick in surprise.

Greg shrugged. "I read his paper on Marfan Syndrome and it's effects on the heart….Hey, I do read you know," he added, as the other CSI's looked at him in surprise.

"Well, however famous Dr. Abrahms was," said Grissom, "we won't solve this case by standing here talking. Nick, I want you to process the basement and wine cellar. See if you can find any entrances to the house down there. The murderer had to get in somehow."

"Sure thing," Nick nodded and left the room.

"Sara, you take the ground floor. Start with the kitchen. This guy was stabbed, and I want you to see if there are any knives missing in the kitchen."

"Possible murder weapon," Sara replied. "Gotcha."

"Greg," Grissom addressed the young CSI as Sara left the room, "I want you to process this floor. Start with the library, it's at the other end of the corridor. If Dr. Abrahms was working then it's possible he went to the library at some point."

"Already gone," Greg grinned and left the room.

"Warrick, I need you to search the grounds. See if you can find any possible entrance or exit points from the house or garden. I'll have Catherine join you to give you a hand as soon as we're finished up here."

Warrick nodded and left, leaving just Brass, Catherine and Grissom in the room.

"Want me to start processing the lab?" Catherine asked Grissom. "Maybe I can find some trace of the killer." Grissom nodded and turned to study the body just as David Phillips entered.

"Sorry I'm late," he greeted them. "Traffic was pretty backed up getting in here. There's a lot of media vans around."

"Sounds like the vultures got wind of this pretty quick," Brass sighed. "I'll go question the butler about any visitors Abrahms might have had, and run a background check on him as well."

David knelt beside the body as Brass left the room. "John Abrahms, huh? Never thought I'd be seeing this guy so soon."

"You and everybody else," Grissom commented dryly. "What can you tell me about the body?"

"Cause of death is obvious," David answered. "Massive blood loss from a stab wound to the stomach. Positioning of the body tells me the victim was killed here."

"What about time of death?" asked Grissom.

"Liver temperature is 85.3. He's been dead between five and seven hours," David answered. "But I'll have a more exact time frame after autopsy."

"Thanks, David," said Grissom. "And can you page me as soon as you get the results of the Tox Screen, please? I want to know why this guy didn't fight back."

"No problem," David replied as he gathered his things.

"Grissom!" Catherine called suddenly. "You need to see this."

Grissom moved swiftly to where Catherine was crouched down examining the floor. "What is it?" he asked.

"A footprint," Catherine replied. "And there's blood in it so I'm guessing it belongs to our killer."

Grissom frowned as he studied the footprint then glanced back at the door on the far side of the room. "Catherine, what's the first thing most killers do after killing someone?"

"Leave," said Catherine with significant look at Grissom.

"And this killer didn't leave," Grissom mused. "After stabbing Dr. Abrahms, he walked over here and just stood here, possibly for quite some time."

"He watched him die," Catherine stated simply.

**xxx**

Once the body went with David, Grissom suggested that Catherine join Warrick outside while he finished processing the lab. Surprised, Catherine left him to it.

Grissom moved towards the surgical tools he had noticed on one of the counters when he had first entered the room. They were much too small to have been the murder weapon, but the fact that they were they only items in the room not put away triggered Grissom's suspicions. Swabbing them swiftly with phenolphthalein, Grissom was disturbed to see the swab turn purple.

_Positive for blood_, he mused.

Grissom stood for some time surveying the room and a small frown creased his forehead as he tried to make the pieces fit.

The killer had watched John Abrahms die, and that suggested something personal. He had left seemingly no trace of how he had entered or exited the house and that revealed that he knew the house. Why then had he opted not use the efficient but deadly tools within range?

Grissom's frown deepened. The stab wound had been neat and precise, almost surgical. The surgical tools would have made a convenient murder weapon. So why bother going to the trouble of finding another murder weapon?

_Did he bring his own_? Grissom wondered.

Deciding he needed to see if Sara had answered that question in the kitchen, Grissom went back downstairs. Glancing through the doorway of the kitchen, he could see no sign of Sara.

"Sara?" he called, but received only silence in response. "SARA!" he called a little more loudly.

Irked when he did not receive an answer, Grissom headed for the next room. It was the dinning room, and as he entered he saw Sara, bent over her kit. She bolted upright as Grissom entered the room.

"Sorry," she said as Grissom blinked in surprise. "You startled me."

"I just wanted to see if you had found anything," Grissom told her.

"Nothing probative," she replied. "The kitchen was pretty clean but I recovered some prints by the sink. We can compare them against the butler and our victim. And before you ask," she added, "there was no blood on any of the knives and no sign of any missing knives in the kitchen."

Grissom sighed. "In other words, nothing."

Sara smiled. "Maybe not. I discovered a second place-setting here in the dinning room; it looks like our vic was expecting company only they never got around to dinner. Think it could have been our killer?"

"Maybe." Grissom looked interested. "It supports what Catherine and I discovered upstairs. It looks like the killer stayed to watch the victim die, and that suggests something personal."

Sara shuddered. "What kind of person not only murders someone they know, but stands there and watches them take their last breath?"

"One without feelings," Grissom responded. "You continue processing this floor, I'm going to see how Nick is doing."

"I've only just started in here," Sara hinted. "And I still have the living room, utility room, the gym and two very large reception rooms left. It's going to take a while."

"Then you'd better keep going," Grissom told her and headed back up the corridor. Sara shook her head. Grissom just didn't get it sometimes.

Grissom, meanwhile, headed straight for the basement. There was no sign of Nick so he crossed the basement and into the wine cellar. Nick wasn't there either. Grissom frowned. Where was Nick?

"Nick?" he called. Receiving no response he shouted louder, "NICK!"

"Grissom?" a muffled reply reached his ears.

"Nick?" Grissom called. "Where are you?"

There was no response for several seconds and then Nick appeared very suddenly at the back of the wine cellar. "Grissom!" he said in excitement. "You have to see this!"

"Where were you?" Grissom asked as he moved over beside Nick.

"Down here," Nick replied, indicating a trap door in the floor with his flashlight. "I nearly didn't see it because that empty shelf was over it, but the light is so bad I tripped coming back here, and when I hit the floor my beam picked up the handle of the trap door."

"Where does it lead?" asked Grissom as he peered through the hole in the floor and into the darkness.

"That's the weird part," Nick said seriously. "There's an underground river that looks like it might lead somewhere…but there's no boat down there."

"What makes you think it might lead somewhere, Nick?" Grissom queried.

"There's a boat dock down there," Nick told him. "And lights. It looks like it gets used pretty regularly."

"Nice work, Nick. It looks like you've just found the escape route for our killer. Take Greg and an inflatable raft, you two are going on a boat trip."

Nick groaned to himself as Grissom headed back upstairs.

**xxx**

Catherine searched the grounds for Warrick, but could see no trace of him. She was just starting to get a little nervous when Warrick emerged from the trees bordering the back of the property. He was accompanied by a small child and a large dog.

Catherine hurried towards him. "Warrick? Not the smartest move in the world entering those woods before they were cleared, anything could have happened."

"Yeah, something did," Warrick replied, indicating the shaking child at his side.

Catherine felt her anger drain away when she glanced at the little girl at Warrick's side. She was a beautiful child with dark hair and large blue eyes, and looked no older than five or six.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" asked Catherine gently, as she crouched down in front of the little girl. The child didn't answer but looked at the ground, her lower lip trembling. The dog beside her barked and wagged its tail. Catherine looked at Warrick for an answer.

"I couldn't find anything around the house or grounds," Warrick explained as Catherine stood up. "So I headed into the trees just to see if there was anything there. I saw something out of the corner of my eye, drew my gun and was heading towards it when this dog came flying through the trees at me. Next thing I know, this kid is there screaming at me not to shoot her dog. Once I said I wouldn't hurt her dog, she stopped talking and I haven't been able to get anything out of her since."

"Maybe she lives around here," said Catherine thoughtfully. "I'll get Brass to enquire." Bending towards the little girl with her hands on her knees, Catherine smiled kindly. "My name is Catherine," she told her. "And I'll help you get home, okay? Now what's your name, sweetie?"

The little girl didn't answer, but now fat tears were rolling down here cheeks. "Oh, Sweetheart, don't worry," said Catherine soothingly. "No one's going to hurt you, we're going to take you over to one of the police officers there and make sure you get home safe." These words only made the little girl cry harder and Catherine shot Warrick a bewildered glance as she took the little girl by the hand and led her back towards the front of the house where Brass and the other officers were gathered. Catherine made a beeline for Brass who was questioning a man that Catherine assumed was the butler. She got a shock however, when the little girl let go of her hand and ran towards the butler crying, "Daddy!"

The man turned towards her, an expression of shock on his face. "Jenny!" he cried. "What are you doing here?"

**xxx**

Nick headed upstairs and walked down the long corridor away from the crime scene at the other end. _Man, a house this big must be awfully lonely for one person_, he mused thoughtfully. _No wonder Abrahms spent so much time on his work_.

He entered a large, impressive library. Several large bookcases that reached to the ceiling ran the length of the room while dark, oak panels covered the walls, giving the room a dark and gloomy look. A massive fireplace dominated the wall to the right.

"Greg!" Nick called. "Come on, you've got another job. Grissom's sending us on a boat trip."

There was no answer and Nick moved further into the large library. On a table towards the back he spied Greg's open kit, but no Greg.

_Where is he? _Nick wondered. "GREG!" he called again, but the library remained eerily quiet.

Nick frowned, pulled out his cell phone and dialled Greg's number. He had no sooner put the cell against his ear when a tinny sound erupted on the floor somewhere nearby. Quickly, Nick dropped to his feet and spotted a small black cell phone beneath the table that Greg's kit was on. Nick pulled out the phone and his heart started to beat a little faster when he saw his own name flashing up at him.

_There's a reason for this_, Nick reassured himself as he exited the library and checked the other upstairs rooms, calling Greg's name as he did so.

Greg wasn't in any of them.

_He probably just stepped out to use the bathroom_, Nick told himself, trying to ignore the bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach as he hurried downstairs. He addressed the officer at the front door. "Did Greg Sanders come down here in the last hour?"

The officer shook his head. "The only CSI's that have left this house since you guys entered are Warrick Brown and Catherine Willows," he informed him.

"Are you sure?" Nick asked him. "Maybe while you stepped away for a minute…"

"Nick, I haven't left this doorway for the last hour and a half," the officer retorted sniffily. "I assure you, I haven't seen Greg Sanders since he entered the house over an hour ago. Maybe he left by one of the other doors?"

Nick shook his head. "No. Greg knows not to leave a crime scene without letting someone in charge know where he's going."

"Nick, what's going on?" Grissom's voice sounded behind him.

Nick spun around. "Grissom, have you seen Greg?"

"He's upstairs processing the library and the upper rooms," Grissom replied.

"No he isn't. He's not in any of the upstairs rooms, and he hasn't come down here since he entered the house. His kit and cell phone were still upstairs."

"Well, he can't have just vanished. It's a big house, I'm sure he's around here somewhere."

"Grissom…"

"Nick, if he hasn't left and he's not upstairs, then he must be downstairs. Take a look around."

At that moment, Grissom's phone rang and he pulled it out. "Excuse me," he said to Nick and the officer as he turned away.

Nick returned his attention to the officer. "If Greg comes past, can you keep him here?"

"Sure thing," said the officer. "But, Nick, if he hasn't left the house then he must be around here somewhere."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm going to take a look anyway," said Nick as he moved down the corridor.

Nick knew he was being a little irrational but he couldn't help it. He had a niggling feeling in his gut that something was wrong, and the massive, empty house wasn't making him feel any better. Nick couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the house just felt…wrong.

He glanced into the dinning room and saw Sara on her hands and knees, peering beneath a large glass cabinet.

"Hey, Sara," he called. "Have you seen Greg?"

"Upstairs, I think," came the muffled reply.

"Yeah right," Nick muttered. Hastily, he checked the rest of the ground floor and the basement but found no sign of Greg. The feeling in his gut intensified and he returned to the front door where the officer had been joined by Brass and Grissom.

Grissom frowned as Nick approached. "Where's Greg?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Nick. "Grissom, I've searched everywhere. He's not here."

Grissom's frown deepened and he turned to the officer on the door. "Are you sure Greg hasn't left the house in the last hour or so?"

Nick could see the officer visibly swallow his irritation. "Sir, like I told Nick, I haven't left my post and the only CSI's I've seen leave the house are Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown. I haven't seen Sanders since he entered the house…and with hair like that, he's kind of hard to miss."

Grissom's expression became grim and he turned to Nick. "Are you sure you've searched the house thoroughly, Nick?"

"Positive. Grissom, he's _not_ in the house. It's almost like he's…vanished."

_**A/N:** Okay, this is driving me nuts! My story keeps getting deleted on the site but remains in my profile! Can anyone help me as to why this is?_

_Also, I'm Irish and Season 6 has only just started to air over here, so if you guys notice anything that seems out of place to events in season 6 or 7; well, that's why! Also, first chapter is a tad slow (setting the scene yada yada), it'll liven up a bit...promise!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"People don't just vanish, Nick," Grissom pointed out. "Greg has to be around here somewhere."

"I'll ask one of the other officers," Brass told them. "Maybe they've seen him."

"Thanks, Jim," said Grissom and turned back to Nick as Brass moved away. "Come on, Nick, let's have a look upstairs."

They returned to the library where Greg had been working last. Grissom felt a pang of uneasiness strike him when he saw the open kit and the cell phone on the floor.

"Greg wouldn't leave his things just lying around like this, Grissom," Nick said. "He's still learning but he knows better than that."

Grissom nodded but didn't reply. Nick fell silent as he watched the older man inspect the room. After several minutes of silence, Brass entered looking distinctly unsettled.

"No one has seen a trace of Sanders since he entered this house," Brass spoke up. "And he definitely didn't leave the house. Nick, are you sure you've searched everywhere?"

"_Yes_!" Nick ground out in irritation. "Why are you having such trouble believing that Greg's not in the house?"

"Because people don't just vanish, Nicky," Grissom answered, as he threw a glance around the room one last time. "There's no sign of a struggle," he concluded.

"And there's no way Greg would have left without telling anyone where he was going," Nick put in. "So where is he?"

Grissom shook his head. "I don't know."

Within thirty minutes, a scent dog had arrived on the scene but-much to the bewilderment of his trainer-the dog could pick up no trace of Greg's scent.

"With the exception of his kit and cell phone, it's like he was never in the house," Catherine muttered to Grissom in a low voice as they watched the dog search vainly for a scent. "I don't like this, what the hell is going on?"

Grissom didn't respond. "Grissom?" Catherine pressed.

He looked at her. "Catherine, I need you to finish processing Abrahms' lab, then take all the evidence that's been collected so far back to the lab and get started on that."

"But what about Greg?" Catherine demanded.

"He went missing from the house in the same way our killer seems to have. To find him we're going to have to find the killer, so I suggest you get going," Grissom told her just as Nick, Sara and Warrick joined them.

"Nick and I just finished the grounds," Warrick announced. "The woods cover roughly two acres so Brass has two officers clearing it before we can enter and check it thoroughly."

"Good," Grissom responded. "Warrick, when they're done I want you to take an officer and process every inch of that woods, leave no stone unturned."

"Wait a minute, what about me?" Nick argued at once. "If I help him, the woods will be processed much quicker."

"This murder case has just turned into a missing persons," Grissom told him. "The first twenty four hours are the most crucial….we need to get _everything_ processed quickly and you still have to follow that river tunnel, Nick."

"I forgot about that," Nick admitted.

"I know," said Grissom. "Take Detective Vega with you, and take your time. You don't want to miss anything."

Nick nodded.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Grissom addressed them. "Get going."

Without another word, Warrick and Nick left the room.

"What about me?" asked Sara. "Where do you need me?"

"Finish processing the ground floor," Grissom told her. "But I want you to check for hidden rooms and doors as well, I have a feeling this house has a lot of secrets." Sara nodded and turned to leave. "Sara?" Grissom stopped her and she turned. "Take an officer with you, I'm not having another CSI go missing."

Grissom turned away and missed the look that crossed Sara's face, but Catherine didn't. As Sara left the room, she turned to Grissom and spoke. "Gil, what's going on? You're just brushing them off like they've done something wrong. They're worried about Greg and they need answers."

Grissom sighed. "I know, Catherine, but they can't treat this case differently from any other. If they let their feelings get the better of them, they'll make mistakes."

"And you're not?!" Catherine rolled her eyes. "Grissom, you're taking this case every bit as personally as they are. Don't try and tell me that's not guilt driving you, I know you better than that!"

Grissom didn't respond. As the trainer led his scent dog out of the library in baffled defeat, Grissom entered and turned to face Catherine. "The clock is ticking, Catherine. You need to get the lab processed."

Catherine watched, speechless, as Grissom turned away, headed to the back of the library and dropped to his knees examining the table on which Greg's kit was found. Angry, she whirled around and headed for the lab. She met Brass in the hall.

"Where's Grissom?" he greeted her.

"Library," she answered shortly without stopping. "See if you can talk to him."

Brass stared after her in surprise for a minute before continuing towards the library. "Geez, Gil, what did you do to piss off Catherine this time?" he asked as he entered the room.

"Did you get anything on the butler?" Grissom demanded, ignoring the question as he shone his light beneath the table.

Brass shook his head. "Butler's name is Tom Daniels and so far everything he says checks out. He's worked for John Abrahms for just over four years now, and has nothing but good things to say about him. He has no idea why anyone would kill him; said he was popular and well liked locally, and he had no enemies that he knew of."

"What about the little girl? Does he always bring her to work?"

Brass shook his head again. "No, never. Apparently, he lives about ten minutes down the road and the little girl followed him up this morning. Daniels said she's never done that before."

"So why do it this morning?" Grissom mused, standing up.

Brass shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. He's just brought her home but he's coming down to the station later, maybe I can find out something then."

"Mmmm," Grissom murmured, moving slowly to the side of the room and starting to tap the wooden panels.

Brass raised his eyebrows. "What are you doing?"

"Shhhh!" Grissom responded. Brass rolled his eyes, but remained silent for the next ten minutes while Grissom carefully tapped and examined all of the oak panels surrounding the walls of the library.

"Nothing," he concluded, his forehead puckering in frustration when he had finished. "The panels are all solid, not one is hollow."

"Don't tell me you were expecting to find a secret room or something," Brass groaned a little. "I thought you knew better than that, Gill."

Grissom looked annoyed. "This room is hermetically sealed. Look at it; one door and no window. How is it possible for someone to just vanish from this room?"

Brass fell silent and Grissom continued. "The only furniture in here, aside from the rows of bookshelves, are the two armchairs by the fireplace and one table with one chair at the back. It should be easy to see what Greg first processed when he came in here, but with the exception of his kit and cell phone, there's no indication that he was ever even in this room!"

Grissom shone his torch around the library again as Brass frowned thoughtfully. "Grissom, maybe Greg went into the one of the other rooms. Maybe he didn't vanish from this room."

Grissom shook his head. "The scent dog couldn't even pick up Greg's scent in this room where we found his kit and cell, never mind any of the others."

"Maybe the dog had a cold, I don't know. Humour me for a second; let's say Greg did leave this room and enter another. Maybe we're looking in the wrong room?"

Grissom stared at Brass for several seconds before sighing and shaking his head. "Nick didn't notice anything unusual when he checked the other rooms….but then again," Grissom frowned. "Nick would have been looking for Greg, not signs of a struggle. Maybe he missed something?"

"Want to take a little house tour?" Brass smiled slightly.

"Lead the way."

**xxx**

Several long and arduous hours later, Grissom and Sara had finished processing the interior of the house without any luck. No sign of any intruder, no sign of Greg and definitely no sign of any hidden rooms or doors.

Grissom wanted to growl in frustration.

"Maybe Catherine discovered something back at the lab," Sara suggested half-heartedly, as they stood in the doorway to the library looking in.

Grissom didn't answer.

"Hey, guys!" a voice called from the other end of the corridor and they turned to see Warrick coming towards them.

"Did you find anything?" asked Sara hopefully, but Warrick shook his head dejectedly.

"Not a thing. Those woods look like nobody ever goes into them."

Sara sighed. "Guess we should head back to the lab, see if Catherine's turned up anything. I'll call Nick and let him know where we're going." She pulled out her cell phone and dialled Nick. After several seconds, she shook her head and hung up. "Voicemail. There probably isn't a signal down in that tunnel."

"Leave him a message," Grissom responded automatically. "There's nothing here. You guys head back to the lab, I'm going over to the station. I want to see Brass question Tom Daniels."

Warrick drove back to the lab and the ride was silent and tense. Sara could feel her nerves straining with frustration, and she could see Warrick's anger in the stiff and uncomfortable way he held his shoulders. It didn't help that Grissom had seemed his usual, silent self just before he left for the station.

_How does he do this? _she wondered. _How does he just shut off from everything?_

Sara had worked several missing persons cases over the years, but this was the first time that the missing person was close to her and the frustration and helplessness that came with that was driving her crazy.

Sara hoped that Catherine had had better luck back at the lab.

**xxx**

Grissom watched silently from behind the glass as Detective Jim Brass started to question Tom Daniels.

"So, you worked for John Abrahms for over four years, is that right?" Brass asked as he paced the floor behind Daniels.

"Yes! I told you this already."

"And in that time, you've never known him to have a fight with anyone?"

"Oh good God!" Daniels buried his face in his hands. "How many times do I have to tell you? Dr. Abrahms had no enemies! Aside from all the work he did for genetics, do you know how many charities he donated to? Or how many homeless shelters he opened? It wasn't possible to hate him."

"Yeah, guy was a regular Mother Theresa," Brass said. "Still doesn't change the fact that someone stabbed him to death last night."

"I don't know why anyone would do that."

"Of course you don't. Now, Mr. Daniels, I want you to do me a favour. Walk me through what you did at work yesterday before you left."

Daniels closed his eyes. "I arrived around seven and prepared a light supper for Dr. Abrahms. I served it to him, cleaned up and organised a small buffet which I then placed in the fridge."

"Okay, stop right there," Brass interrupted and Daniels opened his eyes. "What was the light buffet for?"

"I don't know. Dr. Abrahms often asked me to do that….prepare a light buffet, then wrap it in Clingfilm and put it in the fridge. Afterwards, I would set two places in the dining room."

"Did you set two places last night?"

"Of course. It was always the same. Dr. Abrahms never varied that routine over the years."

"And you have no idea who it was for?" Brass asked sceptically.

Daniels shrugged. "I never knew. His guest arrived always arrived after I finished work and left before I returned. I always assumed it was some lady friend he didn't want me to know about."

"Did this lady friend have the security code?"

Daniels shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe."

"There seems to be a lot you don't know about your boss, yet you claim that there's no way anyone would have wanted to hurt him."

"Hey, Dr. Abrahms was a good man. Just because he liked his privacy doesn't make him a bad man!"

"Never said he was," Brass responded as he stopped pacing and sat down opposite Daniels. "So he liked his privacy, huh? Tell me about that."

Daniels sighed. "Dr. Abrahms did all his work in his own lab. He never shared any of his theories with other scientists until he found something that would be of benefit to the medical community. He kept to himself and he didn't give interviews whenever he made a discovery. He didn't talk about his private life and he rarely brought people into his home. Dr. Abrahms was a good man, but he didn't socialise much. I think he was a little afraid of people, that's why he moved so far out of the city and into the suburbs."

"Yeah, pretty cosy little neighbourhood. Very exclusive. Which reminds me….how does someone on a butler's salary buy a house in such a neighbourhood?"

"Dr. Abrahms helped us buy the house," Daniels answered shortly. "He insisted that I be nearby in case he needed me."

"Right." Brass shook his head. "Let's go back to the buffet. What did you do after you set it up?"

"I did Dr. Abrahms laundry, tidied his office and organised his post. Then I brought him a cup of tea before I locked up for the night and left."

Brass examined his hand and asked casually, "what time exactly did you leave?"

"Around ten thirty. I had to mail some letters for Dr. Abrahms and drop off some dry cleaning for him."

"What time did you get home?"

"Sometime just before twelve. I stopped for take out on the way home because I was hungry."

"Let me get this straight. You technically didn't get home until nearly midnight from work and you had to be in at five thirty the next morning? That's not much of a break between shifts."

"I worked odd hours depending on when Dr. Abrahms needed me."

"And this didn't bother you?"

"No, it suited me. Look, some days I worked longer hours than others but then there were days when Dr. Abrahms only needed me for an hour or two. I liked it, it meant I got to spend more time with my daughter."

"Jenny?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Daniels, you told me Jenny had never followed you to work before. Why follow you today?"

"I was supposed to be home around seven. I had promised Jenny we'd go to the park and when I wasn't home, I guess she got impatient."

Brass nodded. "I understand that, I do. I have a daughter and she was just like that as a kid. What I don't understand is how Jenny knew how to sneak past all the police that were guarding that crime scene if, as you told me, you never brought her to work before."

Tom Daniels paled a little. "I never brought her to work, but she had been to the house before. Sometimes, she and my wife visited Marie Abrahms before she died."

"Was she ever in Dr. Abrahms lab?"

Daniels shook his head. "No, never."

"Mr. Daniels, how old is your daughter?"

"Seven."

"And Marie Abrahms died two years ago, right?"

Daniels nodded and Brass continued. "So that would have made your daughter four or five when she went to the house? See, here's what I don't get, Mr. Daniels, how does a five year old still remember a shortcut two years later?"

"My daughter is very bright."

"No kid is that bright."

"Detective Brass, what are you getting at? Am I a suspect?"

"Well, you were the last person to see John Abrahms alive, and you were also the person who discovered the body…."

"I didn't kill him!" Daniels cried. "Dr. Abrahms was a great employer, why would I want to kill him?"

"You tell me."

Daniels expression of panic immediately changed to one of anger. "I'm not answering any more questions without a lawyer present."

Brass smiled grimly. "That's your right."

**xxx**

"His wife confirmed that he got home just before midnight, and that he left for work again just before five thirty," Brass told Grissom as Daniels left. "But the guy knows something about the murder, his answers were just too…convenient."

Grissom shook his head. "I'm not sure. He seems to have revered Dr. Abrahms, but he could be just a very good liar."

Brass sighed. "What next?"

"Archie is looking at the security system from the house to see if anyone entered after Daniels left and before he returned. I'm still waiting on Jackie to process the prints we lifted in the house."

"What about you?"

"I'm heading back to CSI."

"I'll try and find out the names of anyone who knew Abrahms and might have been in his house," said Brass. "I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Thanks, Jim," Grissom responded as he left.

**xxx**

"What do you mean there's more than one sample?" Catherine demanded, snatching the paper from Mia and scanning it.

"Exactly what I said," Mia responded coolly. "The blood samples from that scalpel were from multiple donors."

Catherine stared at the results in her hands. "But Abrahms wasn't a surgeon….Did you get a match on any of the samples?"

"Mia shook her head. "Not one. But I can tell you that some of those samples are at least fifteen years old."

"Maybe it wasn't his surgical set," Catherine mused. "Okay, thanks, Mia."

"No problem," Mia answered quietly.

Catherine left the DNA lab, still mulling over the paper in her hand and promptly collided with Grissom.

"Oh, sorry, Gill," she apologised. "Did you find anything else at the scene?"

Grissom shook his head. "No. And I stooped off at the morgue on the way back. According to Doc. Robbins, Abrahms wasn't drugged."

"Then how the hell did the killer get him into that chair?"

"I don't know," Grissom shook his head, his eyes on the paper in her hands. "What's that?"

"DNA results from the scalpel we recovered in the lab." Catherine looked at Grissom. "There are several samples on it, and some are more than fifteen years old, but Abrahms wasn't a surgeon."

"Maybe it's not his surgical kit," Grissom suggested.

"So how do we find out who it does belong to?" asked Catherine.

"I bet Tom Daniels would know."

"Did Brass get anything out of him?"

Grissom shook his head. "But Jim seems to think he knows something."

"Well if he does than we'd better hope he talks," said Catherine, "because right now we have more questions than answers."

**xxx**

Greg didn't know what woke him. His head throbbed painfully, his stomach felt nauseous and his mouth was uncomfortably dry.

_Where the hell am I?_

Greg opened his eyes and saw only black, then felt himself start to spin. Nausea rose in his throat and he tried not to retch. It was then he realised he was gagged and blindfolded. He tried to get up but found himself bound hand and foot. He immediately attempted to loosen the ropes but his arms and legs felt like lead and his efforts were feeble.

Suddenly, Greg felt himself bounce and heard the clatter of something metal near his head. Slowly he became aware of the hum of an engine.

_I'm in the trunk of a car_, he realised, starting to panic slightly.

What the hell had happened?

His head felt thick and his memories were hazy, but Greg forced his fog-heavy brain to work. His last clear memory was of entering the library at….a crime scene?

The car bounced again and Greg groaned as his throbbing head hit the floor of the trunk. He felt dangerously near to vomiting and suppressed it desperately, knowing that if he vomited while gagged he could choke to death.

_Okay, library_…._then what?_

Greg tried to see through the fog in his head but it seemed to be getting thicker. His heart began to beat faster as his panic continued to rise.

_Calm down! _he scolded himself. _Think!_

To calm his panicked breathing, Greg tried to breath deeply but only stale, thick air seemed to flow through his nostrils. He tried again, but the muggy air in the trunk nearly suffocated him.

Fully fledged panic set in as Greg tried to make sense of what was happening. _Where am I? What the fuck is going on? _Images flashed through his mind but he couldn't latch onto any of them. The fog got thicker and Greg's thoughts got dimmer. The hum of the engine started to fade, and an inviting dark beckoned to Greg.

As he felt himself fade with the sound of the engine, a little voice woke up somewhere in the corner of his brain. _No! Stay awake! You can't go to sleep!_

_I'm tired, _Greg told the voice as darkness pulled at him.

_STAY AWAKE! _the voice practically screamed at him.

Greg opened his eyes once more and saw only dark. Closing them again, he slipped into an inviting black abyss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The night wore on and Grissom found himself staring restlessly at photos of the crime scene. They were like pieces of a puzzle that didn't fit. John Abrahms' lab didn't fit. Grissom had been staring at the pictures of the lab for more than twenty minutes before realising what it was about it that bothered him.

He had nearly missed it. It was only when he had looked up from the pictures to rub his eyes and found himself staring at one of his own experiments, that Grissom had realised what was wrong. There was no sign of Abrahms' experiments in his lab. All the equipment was there, all the chemicals and the test tubes….but they were unused. The whole lab looked pristine, almost brand new.

Grissom frowned. Science was messy, where was the evidence of Dr. Abrahms' work? Bothered, Grissom went in search of Catherine. He knew she had brought the computer from the lab; maybe there was something on the hard drive?

He found her in the AV lab with Archie, staring tiredly at a computer.

"Catherine," said Grissom at once. "Did you get anything off the computer from Abrahms lab?"

"Funny you should ask," she answered. "I didn't. There were several papers and case files, but nothing really important; certainly nothing like the breakthroughs he's been making over the years. How did you….?"

"His lab looks like it was never used," Grissom told her, handing her the picture.

Catherine studied it. "So if that's not his lab, where did he do his work?"

"Good question. What are you doing?"

"Running the alarm system from the house to see if anyone entered or exited last night."

"Did you find anything?"

"A big fat nothing," Catherine replied. "The alarm was set at exactly 10.28 last night, and nobody entered the house until 5.31 this morning when Daniels returned to work."

"Maybe the alarm wasn't working," Grissom suggested but Archie shook his head.

"The alarm system is in perfect working order," he told Grissom. "Very high tech and very reliable. Nobody entered or exited that house between the time the butler left and returned."

"Grissom!"

They all turned at the shout from the doorway. Nick stood there looking rather grubby but very excited.

"Did you find anything?" Catherine demanded at once.

"I was right," Nick crowed. "That tunnel gets a lot of use. Detective Vega and I followed it all the way. It comes out onto one of the tributaries of Lake Meade."

"And?" queried Grissom. "What else did you find?"

"There was a boat moored just outside the tunnel. And there was blood in the boat _and_ inside the tunnel. I also found some blood on the boat dock just beneath the wine cellar of Abrahms house. I've given all the samples to Mia."

"Good work, Nick," said Grissom. "And you've given us something to go on. Can you go back to the house and see if that tunnel is connected to the alarm?"

"How does that help us find Greg?" Nick asked at once. "There's no way he left by that tunnel, someone would have seen him."

Grissom sighed. "Nick, it's about the only lead we have to chase up right now."

Nick opened his mouth to argue just as Jackie Franco walked in. "Guys, I think I found something. It may be nothing but…."

"What is it, Jackie?" Grissom asked.

"Those prints you lifted at the scene. I'm still processing most of them but I got a hit off one. It was from the dining room. The print belongs to Dr. Adrian Randell, a US Military doctor."

"Great!" Catherine exclaimed. "I'll have Brass bring him in."

"There's more," Jackie continued. "Most of the prints in the dining room and kitchen belong to the victim and his butler, but I found one set of prints in both rooms that don't belong to either of them. I found those same prints in the lab and the library. No match in AFIS though."

"Thanks, Jackie," said Grissom.

"I'm not finished," she told him. "I've finished processing the lab prints. I found just one other set of prints besides the unidentified ones and Abrahms and his butler. But they belong to a child."

"A child? Jackie, are you sure?" Grissom asked at once.

"Positive," she replied.

"What are a child's prints doing in Dr. Abrahms lab?" Catherine wondered.

Grissom shook his head. "I don't know. Jackie, is that everything?"

"Yeah. I'm going to continue running the rest of the prints. I'll be in the print lab if you need anything."

"Thanks, Jackie," Grissom said as she nodded and left.

"What now?" asked Catherine.

Grissom looked a little grim. "Call Brass. Have him locate Dr. Randell and get him to come in. But first, have him get him get a warrant for Jenny Daniels prints and DNA."

"Why?" asked Catherine.

"I want to see if she was in that lab."

**xxx**

The next morning, much to Tom Daniels' anger, Jim Brass produced a warrant for his daughters' prints. It didn't take long for Jackie to match them to the set of children's prints found in John Abrahms lab.

This time when Tom Daniels was brought in for questioning, he had his lawyer with him.

Grissom sat across from Tom Daniels and his lawyer, Brady Thomas, and watched as Daniels fidgeted nervously.

"Why'd you lie to us?" Brass demanded, staring down at Daniels from behind. "Why'd you tell us Jenny wasn't in that lab?"

Tom Daniels shuffled uncomfortably and glanced at his lawyer. "Alright, so she was in the lab. What's the big deal?"

"Well, it wouldn't be a problem if you'd told us the truth from the beginning," Brass responded. "But the fact that you lied makes me wonder what else you've lied about."

"My daughter is seven years old," Daniels retorted through gritted teeth, "and I did _not_ want her dragged into this, so I lied."

"This is a murder investigation and one of our officers is missing," Brass told him. "She's just been brought into it….start talking."

Daniels sighed miserably. "It all started just over a year ago, Jenny was diagnosed with Leukaemia. My wife and I couldn't….we didn't have the money to pay her medical bills. Dr. Abrahms helped us out, he paid for Jenny's treatment."

"Just like that? He didn't look for anything in return?" Brass asked sceptically.

Daniels shook his head. "No. I even offered to take a wage cut to try and pay him back but he wouldn't hear of it. And he kept a regular eye on Jenny too."

"What do you mean he kept a regular eye on her?" Grissom demanded at once.

"In between treatments, Dr. Abrahms would perform blood tests to keep an eye on her white blood cell count…"

"And you let him?" Grissom interrupted incredulously.

"Of course, he was a doctor!" Daniels retorted defensively. "Anyway, every three weeks we would take Jenny to Dr. Abrahms and he would take her blood and check her over…"

"Let me get this straight," Grissom interrupted again. "Your daughter was undergoing chemotherapy, probably feeling very ill and weak, prone to picking up viruses….and you brought her to a private, and for all you know unsterilised, lab to have her blood taken every two weeks?!"

"It was sterilised! Dr. Abrahms was very strict; my wife and I weren't even allowed in.…"

"Are you for real?" Brass interrupted him this time. "You let your daughter into the room _alone _with the man?!"

"It was for her own protection. The Doctor was very careful about germs and…."

"Are you really that stupid?" Brass stared at him in amazement.

"Mr. Daniels," Grissom addressed him. "What Dr. Abrahms did was not only illegal but unethical, and what you did was immoral. You put your daughter and her health in jeopardy."

"She was never in danger…."

"How do you know that?" Brass demanded. "You just admitted you were never in the room. How do you know what Dr. Abrahms did behind those doors?

"I…I don't." For the first time since beginning his story, Tom Daniels looked unsure. "Dr. Abrahms _helped_ Jenny. Her Leukaemia went into remission four months ago."

"Dr. Abrahms didn't do that," Grissom told him. "The doctors treating her did. Mr. Daniels, what were Jenny's feelings on Dr. Abrahms?"

"I don't think she particularly liked him," Daniels admitted. "But she didn't like the doctors or nurses at the hospital either! It's because they were all poking her with needles."

Grissom and Brass looked at one another. "Hey, I did right by my daughter!" Daniels burst out. "And no one is going to accuse me otherwise!"

"Well, that's your opinion, Mr. Daniels," said Grissom as he got up to leave. "But not everyone may see it like that."

Grissom left the room followed closely by Brass.

"Can you believe this guy?" said Brass. "Maybe more went on in that room than he realised and when he found out he went mad and killed Abrahms? After all, he worked there for over four years, the guy probably knew about that trap door."

Grissom shook his head. "No. Daniels really seems to have worshiped Dr. Abrahms, I don't think he killed him. However, I would like to talk to Jenny Daniels and Mrs. Daniels. Can you organise it?"

"Sure," said Brass. "Anything else you want to ask Daniels?"

Grissom shook his head. "No. Give me a call when you've set up the interview with Mrs. Daniels and her daughter."

Brass nodded as Grissom walked down the corridor. He met Catherine at the door. "What are you doing here?" he asked in surprise. "I thought you were back at the lab?"

"I was," Catherine replied. "Grissom, we have a problem. Mia ran those samples that Nick collected from the boat and tunnel….they match some of the samples found on the scalpel."

Grissom removed his glasses and stared at Catherine. "Is Mia sure?"

"Positive. She ran them twice. Grissom, it looks like someone might have been killed in that house, maybe even more than one."

"Maybe not killed," Grissom mused.

"What? Do you know something I don't?"

Grissom shook his head. "Right now, all I've got is a theory."

**xxx**

"I hate this house," Nick muttered to Warrick as they walked back into John Abrahms house.

"It's just a house, Nick," Warrick replied.

Nick sighed. "Yeah, I know. Want me to make sure the house is secure before we set the alarm?"

Warrick nodded and headed to the basement. Carefully, he examined the trap door but couldn't see any wires that might connect it to the alarm. He was staring pensively around the wine cellar five minutes later when his cell rang.

It was Nick. "Warrick, I set the alarm. Open that trap door and see if it sets the alarm off."

Warrick pulled up the door and they both listened. Silence.

"Okay, so it doesn't set the alarm off," said Warrick. "Does it register on the alarm system when we open the door?"

"Just let me check."

Warrick could hear Nick moving about and a minute later he spoke again. "No indication of movement. That trap door is definitely not connected to the alarm system in any way."

"It's highly likely that this is how the killer got in and out then," said Warrick.

"Still doesn't explain what happened to Greg though."

Warrick sighed. "Don't go there man, it won't get us anywhere. You ready to head back to the lab?"

"Why not? It's not like we've uncovered anything here!" Warrick winced at the bitterness in Nick's voice. "You head out to the car and I'll reset the alarm.

"Sure." Warrick couldn't help but glance at his watch as Nick hung up. Nick wasn't the only one painfully aware that the clock was ticking.

**xxx**

Greg opened his eyes slowly. His head still throbbed but his stomach no longer felt sick. Sitting up, he realised that he was no longer bound and no longer in the trunk of a car. He was in a small, white, windowless room lying on a low, narrow bed. Aside from a single light bulb, there was no other furniture in the room. It looked almost like a hospital room except for the massive steel door that dominated one wall.

Greg swung his legs off the bed and put his hand to the back of his neck which felt stiff.

_What the hell is going on? _he thought to himself. _Where am I?_

Greg closed his eyes as he tried to remember what had happened to him. _The library_…._what happened after that? _Greg rubbed his head as he tried to think, but try as he may, he couldn't remember anything beyond standing in the doorway to the library.

Slowly, he got off the bed to examine the room. Looking around him, Greg estimated that it was no more than eight by ten feet. Quickly he examined the room but found no exit other than the door which was securely locked.

A knot of fear started to grow in his throat as he sank back onto the bed. His CSI vest was gone, as was his cell phone. Greg felt as though he had just stepped into the twilight zone, and would have found his situation somewhat funny if hadn't been so scared.

He was trapped with no idea of where he was or how he had got there. Greg Sanders had the worst feeling that he had just landed in a world of trouble.

_**A/N:** Sorry I'm so long with chapter 3 but things have been hectic in the run up to xmas and I'm barely getting near my computer! I can't seem to see my story on the site even though it's saying it's up...would you guys mind letting me know where you're getting the story from? (I see the hits, I know you're out there! ;-))_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Later that morning, Grissom found himself sitting across a table from Jenny Daniels. A woman from Child Services sat beside her.

Grissom swallowed hard as he tried to smile kindly at the small child in front of him. He had spoken to Mrs. Daniels before Jenny. Her answers had been much the same as her husband's and she had been unable to tell him anything about Dr. Abrahms 'treatment' of Jenny. Brass had managed to track down Dr. Randell, the military - doctor whose prints Sara had found at the house - at a medical conference in Washington. The conference gave him an alibi and ruled him out as a suspect, but he was flying back to Vegas to talk to Brass nonetheless.

And Greg had been missing for more than twenty four hours now. Grissom was painfully aware that this little girl was their last chance to get some answers to a case that was raising nothing but questions.

Catherine sat beside him and Grissom could feel that she was equally tense.

It was Catherine who spoke first. "So, Jenny," she began. "Did you have fun finger printing this morning?" The little girl nodded shyly.

Catherine smiled. "Can you tell me what age you are, Jenny?"

"Seven," Jenny answered in her wispy little voice.

"Seven? Really?" Catherine crossed her arms and leaned forward with a smile. "Well, you know what, Jenny? My daughter is eleven and she doesn't sit half so good as you."

"Thank you," the little girl replied shyly.

"You're welcome," Catherine smiled again. "Now, Jenny, I'm going to ask you a few questions but I want you to know they're just questions; you're not in any trouble, okay?"

The child nodded. Catherine took a deep breath and asked, "were you sick last year Jenny?"

The little girl nodded. "I had Lukema."

"Leukaemia?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"And while you were sick, did you have to see a lot of Doctors?"

"Yeah," said Jenny as she made a face. "And they all kept giving me needles."

"I'm sorry. I know it's not very nice being sick."

"Sometimes it was okay," Jenny told her. "Mommy and Daddy got me nice presents to make up for it. And I didn't have to go to school sometimes too."

"Well, that bit sounds like fun!" Catherine agreed.

"It was," Jenny agreed. "And Grandma and Grandpa came to our house all the time, we didn't have to go to theirs."

"You don't like going to your grandparents house? Why?" asked Catherine surprised.

The little girl leaned across the table. "I'm not supposed to say this," she whispered, "but their house smells funny."

Catherine laughed and Grissom smiled. This was going well.

"Tell me, Jenny," said Catherine. "Did anyone else besides the doctors give you needles?" Jenny fell silent and looked at the table.

"Jenny?"

"I promised I wouldn't tell," she whispered.

"Who did you promise, Jenny?" asked Catherine. "Your parents?"

Still staring at the table, the child shook her head. Catherine and Grissom looked at one another before Catherine addressed the child again.

"Was it Dr. Abrahms, Jenny?" asked Catherine softly. "Did he give you needles and make you promise not to tell?"

"Y-yes."

"So, did Dr. Abrahms help to make you better?" asked Catherine.

"I guess so," Jenny shrugged.

"Jenny, did you like Dr. Abrahms?"

Jenny didn't answer, but Catherine noticed her lip starting to tremble and her hands starting to shake. "Jenny, sweetie, it's okay, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to." The little girl nodded as she looked at Catherine.

Catherine smiled kindly. "Jenny, I need you to answer this next question, okay? So if you can _tell_ me the answer, just nod yes or no, okay?"

"Okay."

"Did Dr. Abrahms take blood differently from the Doctors at the hospital?"

"Sometimes."

Catherine glanced at Grissom. "What do you mean by 'sometimes,' Jenny?"

"Sometimes he took lots of blood, more than the doctors," the child said, scrunching up her face. "Other times he took it from different places to my arm."

"Where else did he take blood from?" asked Catherine, slowly and quietly so as not to alarm the child.

"My neck. Once he took it from my back with a very big needle. I didn't like that, it really hurt."

"Your back?" Catherine shot an alarmed look at Grissom. "Did you tell your Mommy and Daddy?"

"I don't think so. I went to sleep after and when I woke up I was at home and I forgot."

"Thank you, Jenny," Catherine smiled. "You've been a big help."

The child looked at the table. "You won't tell Mommy or Daddy what I said, will you?"

"You don't want them to know?"

Jenny shook her head. "They really liked Dr. Abrahms."

"And you didn't?" Grissom asked quietly, speaking to her for the first time.

The little girl looked at him and shook her head. "Dr. Abrahms was a bad man."

**xxx**

"Grissom, this is getting ridiculous! We've been through this house with a fine tooth comb!" Nick Stokes argued angrily as he watched Grissom inspect the front hall of the Abrahms house.

"We've done it from an outsiders perspective, Nick. I want to see it from the perspective of someone who knew the house." Grissom answered as he continued to inspect the hall. Jenny Daniels had refused to say anything else that morning after her pronouncement on Dr. Abrahms, leaving Grissom to further suspect that the answers to their questions lay in this house.

"Right, and while you're running your little experiment, Greg's trail is getting colder by the second!" Nick spat angrily.

Grissom turned to face him. "Every police officer in Vegas has his picture, Nick, the lab is processing every bit of evidence we collected here and the entire team is moving into a triple shift. What else do you suggest we do?"

Nick shrugged in frustration. "I don't know! Get out there, pound the streets. Anything other than _this_!" Nick threw his hand around the hall. "This is our third time coming back to this house. We found nothing the first two times, what makes you think we'll find anything now?"

"We didn't have Tom Daniels the first two times," Grissom smiled at Nick, as the man in question entered the house with Brass.

"Good morning, Mr. Daniels," Grissom greeted him. "Thank you for coming."

"Like I had a choice," he retorted. "You guys have been making me jump through hoops since yesterday morning."

Grissom sighed. "Well, now we need your help. I want you to inspect every room with us. See if there's anything out of place or anything missing."

"Okay," the man shrugged. "Whatever good that'll do."

"It might help," said Grissom. "Let's start upstairs,"

As the four men headed up the stairs, Grissom turned once more to Daniels. "Did you know about the trap door in the wine caller, Mr. Daniels?"

"Yes."

"What was it for?" asked Nick.

Daniels shrugged. "I don't know. I never asked."

"You never asked?" Brass repeated. "You weren't even curious?"

"No."

"Yeah right," Brass muttered.

"Hey! Dr. Abrahms was a good man and a decent boss!" Daniels exclaimed, getting irritated. "Then he gets murdered and you lot come in here with all your questions acting like it's his own fault!"

"Somehow I don't think your boss was quite the angel that you're describing!" Nick snapped. "There's things that don't add up about this house, including what happened to your daughter so you really should ask yourself a few questions before you jump to his defence again!"

"Nick!" Grissom warned, as Daniels flushed. "Drop it!"

They entered the lab in silence, Daniels wincing as he saw the blood stain where his former employer had been murdered.

"What do you see?" asked Grissom. "Anything missing or out of place?"

"His surgical kit is gone," said Daniels at once. "He always kept it over there on that counter."

"We took that back to our lab," Grissom told him. "Did the kit definitely belong to Dr. Abrahms?

"Yes."

Where did he get it?" asked Grissom.

"Some surgeon presented it to him after the Vietnam War. Dr. Abrahms was a military Doctor there."

"Was the kit ever used?"

"Not that I know of. All I know is that it was given to him in thanks."

"Really?" Grissom smiled to himself. "Well, anything else?"

Daniels shook his head.

"Then lets move on, shall we?"

They inspected the rest of the rooms on the upper floor quickly, Daniels finding nothing amiss in any of them. As they drew near the library, the final room, Nick clenched his fists. He really hoped Daniels would notice something.

They entered the room, and the three officers held their breath as Daniels inspected the room.

"Everything is as it should be," he told them after a few minutes.

"Are you sure?" Nick demanded. "Look harder!"

"There's nothing out of place," Daniels insisted. "Trust me."

The others looked at one another in disappointment. Without realising it, they had been hoping that Daniels would spot something they might have missed.

"Guess we'd better get started on the ground floor," Brass sighed, then he shivered. "Damn it's cold in here! Just as well Dr. Abrahms had that big fireplace to keep the room warm." Brass jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the massive fireplace behind him; the mantelpiece of which was at least three inches above his head.

Daniels glanced at it with disinterest. "Oh, that doesn't work."

Immediately, Grissom's head snapped around to look at him. "What do you mean it doesn't work?"

Daniels looked puzzled at his interest. "Neither of the fireplaces in this house work, they're both bricked up. Dr. Abrahms used central heating, it was less messy."

"Less messy?" Brass raised his eyebrows as Grissom pulled some gloves from his pocket and snapped them on.

"Dr. Abrahms words, not mine," Daniels shrugged.

"Really?" said Grissom, moving towards the fireplace.

"It's the one thing I was curious about actually," Daniels admitted. "This whole house is pretty traditional, Dr. Abrahms liked things that way. That's why my title was Butler and not personal assistant. I always thought it was strange that he never wanted open fires because it was something I could picture him….hey, what are you doing?"

Grissom had stepped into the empty fireplace and was feeling around carefully. His hand closed on something long like a stick just behind the mantel.

"What do you see?" asked Nick, watching him closely.

"It's not what I see…." Grissom answered, half to himself. Suddenly he felt the object in his hand move. Quickly, Grissom took a torch out of his pocket. Shining it up, he discovered the stick was more of a lever; a very well hidden one. "Nick," he said. "What do you make of this?"

When he got no response from Nick, Grissom looked up and noticed the faces of the other three men in the room. They were staring behind him with looks of astonishment on their faces. Grissom whirled around and frowned in surprise. The back wall of the fireplace had disappeared to reveal a small, narrow, spiral staircase. He turned back to face the others. "Where did that come from?"

"It just appeared behind you," Nick answered. "The wall moved….I think."

"I never heard it," Grissom told him.

Nick shrugged as Grissom turned back and peered down the stairs. Quickly, he shone his torch down the stairway. "It goes right down."

Nick turned on Daniels. "Did you know this was here?" he demanded.

"No!" Daniels replied, still looking shocked. "I had no idea."

Grissom looked at him. "Let me guess, the other fireplace is directly beneath this one?"

"Yes, actually," said Daniels, still staring in bewilderment at the fireplace.

Grissom looked straight at Nick. "We need to see where this goes."

**xxx**

The rattling of keys woke Greg from a troubled sleep. He had been dozing on and off for hours now, too nervous and apprehensive to sleep properly. Sitting up on the bed, his heart started to beat quickly as he realised someone was coming in the door.

Immediately, Greg jumped of the bed and placed himself beside the door, ready to rush past whoever came through it. A tall figure entered the room; Greg threw himself at it, knocking it down and bolting out the door….only to run straight into a wall. Then the wall grabbed him, and Greg realised it wasn't a wall at all as he found him staring up into the face of the most massive human he had ever seen in his life.

The man was six foot five or six foot six, and looked to be at least two hundred and eighty pounds, most of it muscle. Greg couldn't help but gulp as the giant herded him silently back into the room.

"That wasn't very nice, Mr. Sanders," said a thin, reedy voice behind him. "Guests shouldn't behave with such disrespect."

"Most guests aren't held against their will!" Greg shot back as the giant spun him around to face the speaker.

A tall, skinny man with a shock of grey hair stood before him. Greg guessed he was at least sixty or older. Despite his height, the man looked very frail.

"Who are you?" Greg demanded. "What do you want?"

"You may call me Dr. King," the old man answered. "The gentleman behind you is Marcus."

_Gentleman, yeah right! _Greg snorted to himself.

The old man smiled as if he guessed what Greg was thinking. "Marcus is a very good friend of mine, but I suggest you don't upset him, Mr. Sanders, he has quite a temper and he's very good at breaking arms."

Greg swallowed.

"As to what you're doing here," Dr. King continued, "you don't need to worry about that. It's no concern of yours."

"The hell it's not!" Greg exploded hotly. "I want out of here! Now!"

"You are in no position to give orders, Mr. Sanders," the Doctor told him coldly. "Marcus, get him ready."

"Ready for what….hey, what are you doing? Stop!" Greg cried as the giant behind him started to herd him towards the bed.

"No! Let go!" Greg tried to push back at the giant but he closed two massive fingers around his arms and pushed him face down on the bed. Greg felt himself being suffocated as the monster pushed him into the mattress; then he heard the doctor's voice.

"I need him face up, Marcus."

Greg felt himself being pulled around by the giant and tried to lash out, to hit him, but the giant swiftly subdued him. "LET GO!" Greg yelled as he kicked and thrashed.

"Hold him still, Marcus, but don't hurt him," the doctor's voice sounded again.

Suddenly the man-mountain was on Greg, using his weight to pin him down. "Stop! Please!" Greg gasped, as the weight threatened to crush him.

"Stop struggling, Mr. Sanders. It will be over quicker," Dr. King said as he came into view and pulled Greg's right arm towards him. "Surely you're not afraid of a little needle?"

"What?" Greg turned his head to see the doctor rolling back his shirt sleeve and tried to pull back his arm, but Marcus tightened his grip until Greg thought the circulation in his arms would stop. Then he felt the needle.

Gritting his teeth, Greg closed his eyes as he realised the doctor was taking his blood. _I'm dreaming! I have to be dreaming! This isn't happening!_

"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Dr. King told him minutes later as he withdrew the needle and swabbed Greg's arm. "Here, hold that against your arm," he added in a surreal 'doctor' voice, placing a cotton pad on Greg's arm.

Marcus let go of Greg's arms and got off him, but Greg stayed put, too numb to move.

"I've left you something to eat," Dr. King spoke again, indicating a tray on the floor. "I'll be back later to check on you. Get some rest now, Mr. Sanders."

And then they were gone, leaving Greg shaking with shock.

_**A/N:** I'm so sorry about the delay in posting this chapter, but I haven't actually been online as things have been so hectic in the run up to christmas! The story is written but I always do one last spell check before I post and I've been so unhappy with this story that I tend to change a lot of sentences. Anyway, thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. And please, let me know what you think of this one!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Greg sat hunched on the bed, his back to the wall, as he tried to figure out what was going on.

He was exhausted but didn't dare go to sleep. Dr. King had returned once more since taking his blood to inform him that his tests had come back clear. Greg didn't even have time to wonder what that meant before Dr. King had launched into a series of general knowledge questions. He had answered each question to the best of his ability, but Dr. King had seemed so pleased with his answers that Greg was beginning to wonder if he should have answered the questions wrongly. After that, Marcus had escorted Greg to a small, windowless bathroom down the hall and remained outside while Greg freshened up. Then he had returned Greg to his cell and left.

Greg had been alone ever since.

_What the hell do they want with me? _thought Greg, fear and frustration gnawing at his mind. He was still trying to piece together his memories from the library at John Abrahms' house, but all he could remember was entering the library and opening his kit. Everything after that was a blank and that in itself scared Greg.

He wondered if the lab were looking for him but then pushed that thought away. He _knew_ they were searching for him; he still remembered the amount of effort and manpower that had gone into finding Nick several months earlier.

_But what if I left nothing behind? _Greg wondered helplessly. This was what bothered him the most about the memory loss. He had no idea if the library was the last place he had been or how long ago it had been since he was there. What if there was no evidence for the Crime Lab to follow?

Judging by the Doctor's behaviour, Greg doubted he had sent a ransom note for them to follow; he didn't seem interested in the fact that Greg was a CSI. To him, Greg was a patient and nothing more.

_But a patient of what? _Greg wondered.

**xxx**

Once they discovered the staircase behind the fireplace, the CSI's acted quickly. While Brass radioed in the discovery, Nick and Grissom took out their flashlights and immediately began to follow the staircase down, being careful to watch for anything unusual on the way. The air got much colder the further they went and the narrow, spiral staircase seemed to go on forever. By the time his feet hit level ground, Nick's head was spinning as though he had spent an hour on a merry-go-round.

"What do you think is down here?" he asked Grissom, trying to see in the feeble glow of his flashlight.

"I don't know, but there's a chink of light just up ahead. It looks like a door."

Nick shone his flashlight up the dim passageway and saw at once what Grissom was talking about it. Within seconds, he had moved up the passageway and confirmed that it was indeed a door.

"I'm opening it," he said to Grissom at once.

"Let an officer clear the place first, Nick," Grissom warned. "You don't know what's behind there.

"I don't care!" Nick retorted. "We both have guns, Grissom, and I am not wasting any more time waiting!"

Grissom studied Nick's frustrated and worried face in the dim glow of his flashlight. "Fine," he agreed at last, withdrawing his gun as he joined Nick.

Pulling out his own gun, Nick carefully opened the door. He had to stifle the gasp that rose in his throat when a laboratory was revealed behind the door. Cautiously and quietly, the two men cleared the room. Once finished, they surveyed it.

"Well, it looks like we found Dr. Abrahms' real lab," commented Grissom, staring at the many files that lined the wall and the vials of blood behind the glass door of the fridge.

"We found more than that," said Nick grimly as he reached into the bin. Straightening up, he held a black CSI vest in his hands.

Grissom could see that the name on the front read SANDERS.

**xxx**

Greg heard the footsteps coming. He had been dozing with his head lolling on his knees, still too afraid to sleep. His head jerked up as the key turned in the lock.

"Mr. Sanders, ah good! You're awake," Dr. King greeted him cheerfully as he entered the room. "It's time to begin our tests."

"Tests?" Greg repeated. "What tests?"

"Nothing for you to concern yourself with," Dr. King assured him with a wave of his hand. "Now, come along."

"No!" Greg argued. "What tests?"

Dr. King sighed. "I suppose this is the bother with the intelligent ones. Marcus, could you….?"

The man mountain entered the room and Greg groaned as he came towards him. "Alright! I'm coming!" he said, getting up. "_You_ don't touch me!" he added with a fierce look at Marcus; half angry, half terrified.

The giant gave a slow smile as Dr. King left the room and Greg followed him out. Marcus stayed right behind him the whole way down a long, white corridor.

_So it's not just my room_, Greg thought to himself. _This whole place looks like a hospital_.

"In here," said Dr. King suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

As Greg followed the doctor through the swinging doors, he stopped short. They were in some sort of laboratory, and sickeningly prominent in the middle of the room was an examination table. There were straps on the table and Greg swallowed. Hard.

"Please hop up on the table, Mr. Sanders," said Dr. King as he moved over to the counter.

"You have got to be _kidding_ me!" Greg spat out.

The doctor looked at him in surprise. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, there's a problem! I'm not getting up on that thing to let you do God-knows-what to me! Are you nuts?" Greg was breathing heavily with panic.

"Mr. Sanders, as I explained to you before, you don't really have a choice in this matter. Marcus." The doctor waved his hand at the giant behind Greg and turned back to the counter.

Immediately the man mountain clamped his hands on Greg's arms and started to usher him towards the table. Greg dug his heals into the ground and tried to hit back at the man behind him, but his hands only ricocheted off the giant.

Marcus' only reaction was to twist Greg's arms painfully behind him. "Stop it!" Greg cried out through gritted teeth. "Why are you doing this?"

The giant pushed the young CSI towards the table and, with seemingly no effort, bent down and lifted him onto the table. As he held Greg down, the doctor appeared beside him and started to buckle the restraints.

Greg could feel his heart hammering wildly against his chest and tried to struggle. "No!" he gasped while the giant pinned down his wrists. "I won't…stop!"

Within minutes, Greg was fully restrained on the table and no amount of tugging on the leather straps would release him. Marcus left the room and the doctor moved back to the counter. Greg strained his neck, trying to see what he was doing but his head was also strapped down and he could see very little. His heart started to palpitate as he caught sight of the doctor preparing a needle.

_Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! _thought Greg, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

The doctor appeared at his side proffering a slim, rubber bung.

"Wha-what's that for?" asked Greg, his voice wavering.

"It's so you don't bite off your tongue," the doctor answered calmly. "Now, bite down."

"Bite…what?" Greg choked.

"Your tongue!" said the doctor impatiently, jamming the tool in Greg's mouth. "Now, bite down."

_Jesus Christ! _thought Greg, terror-stricken as the doctor plunged a needle into his arm. It was like a horrifying nightmare, one Greg could not wake up from and his mind had gone absolutely blank with fear.

Dr. King now stood behind him applying gel to his temples. Greg recognised his actions but refused to accept it. The doctor could not be doing this to him!

"Now, you'll probably feel a mild shock at first," the doctor told him, as he attached a heart monitor to his chest. "I'll increase the current experimentally to see how much you can take."

A muffled cry of alarm escaped Greg's throat as the doctor approached him from behind, and he tried to move his head. However, the leather restraint held him firmly in place and the doctor attached the electrodes, saying soothingly, "now, now! Just relax, Mr. Sanders, it will make things much easier for you."

Then the doctor disappeared from view. Closing his eyes and biting down hard on the rubber bung, Greg braced himself for what was coming. The first current hit him minutes later, causing him to buck on the table and strain against the straps. After several seconds, it stopped and he collapsed against the table, gasping. He only had a few seconds before the next current hit, stronger than the first, and moaned in pain behind the plug. It continued like this for several minutes, each current getting stronger and stronger until Greg was screaming with pain as each jolt of electricity hit him and collapsing with exhaustion in between.

It wasn't long before dark spots began to swim before his vision and, as the currents got stronger and more painful, Greg could feel unconsciousness pulling at him. As a particularly strong current travelled through his body, Greg strained and writhed with pain beneath the restraints before he crumbled into darkness.

**xxx**

Meanwhile, the CSI's were working furiously to process Dr. Abrahms' underground lab. The discovery of Greg's vest had given them a renewed vigour.

Grissom himself was almost a man possessed. "Sara, take all of those files back to the lab and go through them. See if you can find anything in Dr. Abrahms' notes that might suggest where Greg is. Catherine, that computer is all yours. Get it back to Archie and take it apart, make sure you miss nothing."

"Griss!" called Warrick from the hall. "There's another secret exit out of here at the other end of this passageway, but it leads into the sewer."

"Follow it!" commanded Grissom at once.

Nick appeared beside Grissom. "There's a whole lot of video tapes in here, Grissom, and the numbers on them correspond to the files on the shelves. Look."

Grissom took one of the tapes Nick was holding in his outstretched hands and studied them, comparing them with the files Sara was now bagging and cataloguing.

"You're right," he acknowledged. "Okay, Nick, you're with Sara. Go through the files and tapes together, don't miss anything."

"Gotcha!" said Nick in a determined tone. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to finish processing this lab," Grissom answered. "And we need to get those vials of blood of blood back to DNA ASAP, I want to see who they belong to."

Nick nodded and moved away from Grissom just as Catherine joined him.

"Grissom," she said quietly. "You need to take a break."

"What? Not now, Catherine!" he told her in annoyance. "This could be the first break in our case!"

"All the more reason for you to take a break, you might miss something!" she insisted, as Grissom stared her down. "Grissom, seriously! We've all managed to get a least a few hours of sleep, you're the only one who hasn't! Ecklie has given us the day shift CSI's to help find Greg. Please, you need to take a break."

Grissom stared at her tiredly. "Alright, but I need to finish processing this lab first."

"I'll do that," Catherine offered. "Archie can get started on the computer without me, he knows what to do. Gill, please. You're no good to Greg half dead."

**xxx**

Brass stepped into the interrogation room and greeted the tall, distinguished man seated at the table. "Dr. Randell, thanks for coming in. We really appreciate your help."

"You're welcome," the grey haired man replied, in deep, melodic tones. "I was sorry to hear about Dr. Abrahms' death. He was a brilliant man."

"Yeah, well…" Brass replied with distaste. He was getting tired of hearing how great this man was, when their investigation was beginning to suggest that he was anything but.

"So, what can I do for you, Detective?" asked Dr. Randell.

"I'll get straight to the point," Brass answered. "Did you know Dr. Abrahms?"

"Yes, I did. We served in the Vietnam War together."

"Really? You didn't happen to present him with a surgeon's kit after the war, did you?"

"No, why on earth would I do that?" Dr. Randell looked amused. "Dr. Abrahms was my senior. Such instances would have been the other way around, Detective."

"You mean his senior would have presented him with it?" asked Brass and Dr. Randell nodded.

"Who was his senior?"

"Dr. Williams, he was a brilliant surgeon, highly respected."

"And where is he now?" Brass enquired.

Dr. Randell shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure, I never heard what happened to him after he was rescued."

"Rescued?"

"Yes. Dr. Williams was captured by Vietnamese troops shortly before the war ended. He was rescued when the prison camp he was held in was raided, but he'd been tortured and the last I heard, he was never the same after it."

"Really," muttered Brass, making a note of the name. "Interesting. What was his first name?"

"I'm not sure, I think it was Thomas," admitted Dr. Randell.

"Okay. Tell me, Dr. Randell, when was the last time you saw John Abrahms?"

"Last week. I was at his house for dinner."

Brass was surprised. "Dinner? Did he invite you?"

"Yes. He called about two weeks ago to invite me. I have to admit, I was a little surprised as we hadn't spoken in years."

"Really." Brass' ears pricked up. "What did he call you about?"

Dr. Randell frowned. "To be honest, I'm not really sure. He started asking me some strange questions which I was rather uncomfortable with, so I made my excuses and left."

"What sort of questions?" Brass wanted to know.

"Well, we were talking about Gene Therapy as a treatment for Cystic Fibrosis - the idea of inserting a healthy gene into the lung cells of a CF patient to correct the defective gene - that's what I'm working on at the moment. Then suddenly, he started asking me how far I would go for my research and what was I willing to do."

Dr. Randell shook his head looking distinctly uncomfortably. "He asked me…he asked me how I felt about human experimentation."

Brass stared at the man. "And what did you say?"

"Well, to be honest, I made my excuses and left," answered Dr. Randell. "Human experimentation is the biggest taboo in medical research, it's just not _done_! At least, not in this day and age."

Dr. Randell shook his head. "To be frank, Detective, I found Dr. Abrahms a changed man. I remember him as a brilliant, cheerful young doctor in Vietnam, but last week he was a very nervous man."

"What do you mean, nervous?"

"I don't know. He was on edge, jittery, almost like he expected something to happen."

"Anything else you can tell us?"

"Not really. As I said, up until last week, we hadn't spoken in years."

"Okay, Dr. Randell. I guess that's it. We'll call you if we have any more questions."

**xxx**

"Grissom! Grissom!"

"Mmm." Grissom felt himself being shaken awake. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring up at a grim-faced Nick Stokes.

"What? What is it?" he asked, struggling to shake the sleep from his eyes.

"Grissom, we found something. You need to see this."

There was something in Nick's tone that caused Grissom to snap his head up. "Nick, what is it?"

Nick shook his head. "I think its something you should see."

Grissom rolled off the couch and quickly followed Nick down the hall to the AV lab where he and Sara had been viewing the tapes. Catherine and Archie were there also, looking as pale and grim faced as Nick.

They were watching a tape of a man writhing and crying out in obvious pain.

"What is this?" Grissom demanded at once.

"These are the tapes we found in Abrahms' lab," Nick told him in a low voice. "They're all full of the same thing."

Grissom glanced at him then back at the screen. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's been injected with air," Catherine responded in a low voice, as she hit pause on the remote. "And he's dying of an embolism."

"How do you know that?" asked Grissom.

It was Sara who answered. "It's in Abrahms' notes."

"What do you mean it's in his notes?" snapped Grissom. "Will one of you please tell me what this is all about?"

"Human experimentation!" Nick spat out. "His notes, those tapes! They're all a study of the people he experimented on! That's how his 'brilliant' papers and breakthroughs happened!"

There was silence in the room and Grissom picked up one of the files. He scanned it quickly, his face becoming more horrified as he read. "Anthrax and Cyanide injections? Electric shock therapy? Operations with no anaesthetic? _Live _autopsies?"

"There's a tape of one," said Sara quietly, obviously shaken. "Grissom, I've never seen anything like this. It's a protracted form of torture."

"What do you mean, protracted?" asked Grissom, his head spinning a little.

"Most of the people were kept alive for several days, sometimes weeks," Catherine informed him. "Dr. Abrahms made detailed notes on every study; what he gave them, how they reacted, how long death took…."

"The tapes aren't faked either, Grissom," Archie put in quietly. "I checked."

"And the bastard had a partner!" said Nick angrily, wringing his hands in agitation. "He's right there in the tapes with Abrahms; performing operations and autopsies."

"We couldn't get his face though," said Catherine. "For some bizarre reason, they conducted the operations and autopsies under sterile conditions; masks and all."

"Why is that bizarre?" asked Grissom, confused.

"Well, what else would you call it when someone who has such disregard for human life will still care enough to put on a bloody mask?" asked Catherine, a little angrily. "Sorry," she added when Grissom stared at her.

Moving over to the computer they had taken from Abrahms' office, Catherine indicated to Grissom that he should look. Quickly he followed her.

"I think the killer was the other guy on the tapes and he was still in the building when we showed up," said Catherine, hitting some buttons on the keyboard. "He was in the secret lab, watching us."

She hit the return key and instantly the screen was filled with an image of the library, front hall, back door and Abrahms' upstairs lab.

"What is this?" demanded Grissom at once. "Where are these cameras?"

"I called Warrick and asked him to look for them," said Catherine. "He was still processing the sewer tunnel, but he should be back soon."

"How the hell did we miss these?" Grissom was furious. "I said search every inch of that house!"

"We did, Grissom," said Sara defensively. "But there was no indication of cameras on the security systems, so we weren't exactly sweeping the ceilings!"

"Okay, fine. But do these tapes give any shot of the murderer or what happened to Greg?"

"I don't know yet," Archie answered him. "The security tapes for the camera are missing and the computer files were deleted. I'm trying to piece together as much as I can from the hard drive."

"Keep at it!" Grissom ordered. "Catherine, do you think you can try and build a composite of the other doctor from those tapes?"

Catherine nodded uneasily. "But, Grissom, if it really is the other man who took Greg…."

"What?" Grissom looked at them all.

Catherine hesitated. "Grissom….the experiments usually began after a twenty four hour period. The…subjects were weighed, measured and had their blood taken before Abrahms started…his work."

Grissom's heart sank as he realised what Catherine was trying to tell him. "Well, in that case," he told them, his voice quiet, "we'd better find Greg fast."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Greg awoke to pounding pain. His whole body ached and trembled uncontrollably. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was back in his cell and, as a wave of pain crashed through his head, he found that he didn't even care _how_ he had got back there. Groaning, he tried to sit up but collapsed weakly back on the bed.

_Wonder how long I was out_, he thought, closing his eyes again.

Weariness and exhaustion like he had never felt before consumed him, and Greg felt a lump rise in his throat at how alone he was. He had no idea how long it was since he had been kidnapped, but it felt like an age; although he knew it couldn't have been more than a few days. Panic and desperation were beginning to eat at the last shreds of his sanity; why hadn't the team found him yet? It had taken less than a day to find Nick.

_I need to get myself out of here_, he realised. _But how?_

Just then he heard the lock on his door turning and wearily he cracked open his eyes. The door opened and in strolled Dr. King carrying a tray.

"Mr. Sanders, how are you feeling?" the doctor enquired, placing the tray on the floor and sitting beside Greg on the bed. Greg ignored him.

"Tsk, tsk, Mr. Sanders," said the doctor briskly, taking a stethoscope from around his neck and listening to Greg's heart. "It's not polite to ignore people." But Greg remained silent and the doctor sighed before picking up a small bottle and needle from the tray

"What's that for?" asked Greg at once, and was shocked by how weak his voice sounded.

"It's just a simple virus," said the doctor, inserting the needle into the bottle and slowly filling it up.

"What?" asked Greg, panic rising again.

The doctor merely ignored him and reached for his arm, swabbing it quickly. "Hold still," he commanded, picking up the needle.

"Please…no!" Greg begged, feebly trying to evade the doctor's outstretched hand.

The Doctor sighed as he grabbed Greg's arm. "Haven't we discussed this already, Mr. Sanders? Must you continue to be so difficult?"

Greg didn't answer as he tried to pull his arm from the doctor's grasp. However, in his weakened condition, even the elderly doctor was stronger than he was and he was forced to lie still as a needle was plunged into his arm once more.

"I don't understand. Why are you doing this?" he asked miserably.

"It's part of my research," Dr. King replied. "I need to see how a healthy body responds to this particular strain of the virus. You can probably expect the first symptoms in six to eight hours, so I'll be back to check on you then."

"This is not research!" said Greg through gritted teeth. "It's torture!"

"What are you talking about, Mr. Sanders?" asked the doctor, sounding genuinely baffled. "I've been very careful about keeping the tests simple because I've never had such a fine test subject before."

Greg's jaw dropped open. "You mean there are others here?!"

The doctor shook his head. "Of course not. I only study one person at a time. But all of my other subjects were degenerates; usually homeless people, alcoholics or drug addicts…people no one would miss."

"People will miss me," Greg told him quietly.

The doctor smiled. "Maybe, but they'll never find you."

"You don't know that," said Greg weakly.

"Of course I do," said the doctor. "I would never have risked taking you if I couldn't guarantee that."

Greg closed his eyes again, feeling despair fill him.

"Get some rest, Mr. Sanders," said the doctor, patting his arm. "You're going to need it. I'll be back later to check on you."

Greg kept his eyes closed as the doctor left the room and heard the lock sliding into place. The click was loud in the quiet room and Greg thought he had never heard anything so final.

**xxx**

"Grissom!" Warrick strode into Grissom's office, his face tired and grim. "I've given the cameras from the house to Archie."

"So there _were_ cameras?" Grissom raised his eyebrows as he looked up from his notes.

Warrick nodded. "Yeah. Grissom, I talked to Nick and he told me what was on those tapes."

"Warrick, don't think about it. Concentrate on finding Greg," said Grissom, returning his attention to the files in front of him to avoid this discussion.

"But I think I found the room those tapes were filmed in."

Grissom's head shot up and he stared at Warrick. "Where?"

"There was a small vault just down from the exit into the sewer tunnel," Warrick explained. "It was locked and bolted shut so I decided to take a look. When I got it open, I found a room with a bed and a camera mounted high on the wall. There were traces of blood in the room."

"I guess that's where he kept his victims," said Grissom, looking disgusted. "Thanks, Warrick."

"That's not everything," Warrick said hurriedly. "You know the two nearest exits from that sewer tunnel? One led into a pretty populated shopping street, but the other led into a warehouse storage area. I got the security tapes from the CTV cameras. Archie's lining them up now."

Grissom stood up. "I'll go have a look. Good work, Warrick."

"Thanks, boss," said Warrick. "I'm just going to grab a shower, okay?"

Grissom nodded, his attention not really on Warrick as he moved down the hall towards the AV lab once more. Despite his calm exterior, Grissom was feeling horribly disturbed. He had watched one of the tapes they had found in the lab. It had been of a live autopsy, and watching the poor man - bound to a table by leather straps - scream and beg for his life as he was dissected alive had left Grissom with a profound sense of fear and horror that he had never felt before in all his long years as a CSI.

Grissom might have been telling his team not think about the tapes, to concentrate on finding Greg, that they would get him back…but he couldn't lie to himself. And the truth was, Grissom was terrified for Greg.

Grissom thought back to what had happened to Nick several months before. _I'm not doing a very good job of looking out for my guys._

"Archie, have you looked at those security tapes that Warrick gave you?" he asked as soon as he entered the lab. Catherine, Nick and Sara were clustered around Archie.

"Better than that," Archie replied. "I think I've got a view of what happened to Greg."

Grissom moved over to Archie at once and the lab technician pointed to the screen. "I pieced together some of the last camera shots from the library off the hard drive…look, here's Greg entering the library."

Grissom stared at the screen where Greg could clearly be seen entering the library and crossing the room to the table. They saw Greg open his kit, take out his flashlight and move around the library, before stopping to pick up something from beneath one of the armchairs. Greg's back was to them, but they could see from his posture that he was obviously studying the object.

"What was that?" asked Grissom, not taking his eyes from the screen. "Did we collect that at the scene?"

"No," said Nick, his eyes glued to the image in front.

Greg was still studying the object. As he moved back to the table and placed the object in a bindle, they could see the fireplace move and out stepped the most enormous man Grissom had ever seen. Even on screen he looked intimidating.

But Greg had obviously not heard the man who was now sneaking quietly towards him. Instead, he took out his cell phone and was just as he was about to dial when the man pounced on him. Greg dropped the phone.

"That's why I found his cell on the floor!" said Nick angrily.

Their backs were to them but the CSI's could see that there was obviously a struggle between Greg and the big man. Then suddenly Greg went limp and collapsed in a heap on the floor. They watched as the big man took the bindle from Greg's kit and put it in his pocket. Then he took something from his coat and sprayed Greg's kit with it, before bending down to pick up the unconscious CSI and carry him back through the fireplace which closed behind him.

"That's everything until about an hour later when Nick enters," said Archie as he fast forwarded. "I also got this from one of the CTV security tapes that Warrick brought back." Archie's fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard once more and an image of a disused, half-abandoned street came into view.

Grissom leaned in closely just as the sewer manhole was pushed up by a pair of hands. Seconds later, a tall, thin man emerged from the sewer carrying a large black bag and cautiously looked around. He looked back down into the sewer hole just as the enormous man appeared, still carrying Greg. His CSI vest was now gone.

"I guess Greg was less conspicuous without his vest if someone saw them," Catherine offered quietly and Grissom nodded. The two men hurried towards a black Chevy that was parked on the street, and the thin man opened the trunk while the huge one threw Greg inside it. They caught a brief glimpse of the big man winding a coil of rope around something - probably Greg - before slamming the lid of the trunk shut. Then they got in the car and drove off.

"At least now we know what happened," said Grissom grimly. "Archie, get the number of that car and send it off to dispatch, along with clear shots of both those men. That big guy must stand out wherever he goes."

Archie nodded and Grissom turned to Catherine. Did you manage to create an image of the second man on those tapes?"

Catherine nodded and handed Grissom the picture. "It's pretty run-of-the-mill though," she told him. "It could be anyone."

"Doesn't matter," said Grissom. "Archie, as soon as you have an image of those two men I want you to compare this picture to the thin one. I have a feeling he was Abrahms' accomplice and probably his killer."

"Maybe we can get a shot of the murder!" said Sara at once. "After all, there were cameras in Abrahms' fake lab."

Grissom nodded. "Good idea. Archie, can you get on that when you've finished printing the images from those tapes?"

"Sure thing."

"Nick," said Grissom. "Can you go to dispatch and see if you can get any shots of which direction that car went?"

"I'm on it!" said Nick at once and took off.

"What about me?" asked Sara.

"Brass spoke to Dr. Randell. See what information you can get on a Dr. Thomas Williams who was in Vietnam with Abrahms."

Sara nodded and left as Grissom turned to Catherine and said, "Catherine, can you go to DNA and see if Mia has processed the blood samples from the lab? I have a feeling they'll match our earlier samples from Abrahms' surgical kit and the blood drops Nick found on the boat dock."

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be in the evidence room, I need to check something. Oh, and Catherine? When you're done, can you take Warrick and head back to that street they came out on? I need you to process it. I'll send Brass to seal off the scene."

"Wait! What's in the evidence room?" Catherine wanted to know. "Grissom!" she called after him as he set off down the hall.

There was no answer and Catherine sighed. "Figures," she mumbled to herself.

**xxx**

A vicious pain in Greg's head woke him from a feverish sleep. It felt as though a pick-axe was trying to burrow its way out from inside his skull. The pain was nearly blinding.

_Simple virus? Yeah right! _thought Greg, moaning softly to himself. His body was still aching and shivering from the electric shock treatment earlier, but now he was freezing cold and his mouth was uncomfortably dry.

_I have to get out of here, but how?_

Greg closed his eyes again and tried to think beyond the pain in his head. He knew the doctor wasn't the problem; despite being weakened, Greg felt he had some hope of overcoming Dr. King. The real problem was Marcus.

Physically he was no match for the giant, but maybe if he got rid of him long enough to escape? Quickly, Greg's feverish brain began to form some semblance of a plan. It was flimsy at best, but it was all he had.

While Greg was thinking, Marcus and the doctor appeared in his cell again. "Come along, Mr. Sanders," Dr. King told him. "We need to do some tests to see how your body is reacting to the virus."

Greg sat up and struggled to get off the bed, but his head was swimming and the room spun. As he started to fall, Marcus' arms shot out and pulled him to his feet.

With the giant still clinging to his arms, Greg shook his head in an effort to clear it. He had intended to play weak for Marcus' benefit, but he was so ill and exhausted that he realised he wouldn't have to pretend at all. The giant had to half-carry, half-drag him down the hall to the examination room.

Once inside it, Greg was not put on the awful table. Instead, Marcus led him to a chair in the corner of the room and pushed him into it, then stood looming over him. Greg stared around the room in an effort to ignore him and his eyes alighted on a metal surgical tray on the table next to him.

_Perfect!_ he thought.

"Are we ready?" asked the doctor, appearing at his side and taking Greg's temperature. He frowned as he studied the result. "Hmm, that's a little higher than I would like. Dear, dear…I'd better get you something to bring that fever down, but first, I'm just going to take your blood and check your pulse."

Greg remained silent and passive while the doctor bustled around him, carrying out blood tests and taking his pulse. Marcus continued to stare down at him, intimidating and angering him at the same time. Greg wondered how he could get rid of the giant. An opportunity arose several minutes later when the doctor asked him how he were feeling.

"Crap!" Greg croaked out, his mouth dry as paper and his voice barely audible.

The doctor frowned again. "Have you developed a sore throat, Mr. Sanders?"

Greg shook his head and tried to look as meek as possible. "No," he whispered. "But my mouth is very dry…please could I have a drink of water?"

"Of course!" said the doctor brightly. "Marcus, please fetch Mr. Sanders a drink of water."

The giant glanced sharply at the doctor than back at Greg. His insinuation was obvious and the doctor smiled. "Mr. Sanders is no threat to me in his current condition, Marcus. Please get him a glass of water. I would prefer to keep him comfortable at this early stage."

The giant still didn't move, but continued to stare impassively at Greg.

Greg swallowed. _Please work, please work, please work_…

Marcus!" said the doctor again, a warning note in his voice. The giant grunted and with a final look at Greg, left the room. Greg listened to the big man's heavy tread as he made his way down the hall.

The doctor sighed and shook his head. "Marcus is an excellent worker, but I'm afraid even he has his moments." Then the doctor turned his back on Greg and started to label the blood he had just taken from his arm.

Greg couldn't believe his luck. Not daring to breathe, he quietly got out of the chair. Quick as a flash, he grabbed the metal tray on the table beside him and brought it down hard on the doctor's head. At once, the doctor slumped to the floor.

Knowing he had precious little time, Greg resisted the urge to check and see if the old man was okay. As quickly as he could, he slid from the room, using the wall for support. Glancing down the hall in the direction he had heard Marcus go, he could see no sign of the giant and moved as furiously as his spinning head would allow in the opposite direction. There was an exit door at the end of the corridor.

Greg hoped the door would lead out, but opening it he was disappointed to discover it only led into a stairwell. _Shit! _he thought, as he glanced back down the hall once more.

There was no sign of Marcus. And, as Greg's only other option was to head in the direction of the giant, he made up his mind quickly. Gritting his teeth, he started to pull himself up the stairs, stubbornly ignoring how ill he felt.

Greg was amazed at how quickly desperation could make him move; in a matter of minutes, he had cleared one flight of stairs and was at another exit door. Praying desperately, he pushed the door open…and found himself outside!

The sun was beginning to set, but Greg could see clearly that he was in the middle of nowhere as mountainous desert landscape rose up before him.

_I knew it couldn't be that easy! _he groaned to himself. Pausing only briefly to study the tall, stone structure he had just exited, Greg began a slow-motion parody of a run towards the dusty, deserted road. Miles of desert landscape stretched before him, but as Greg climbed the steep hill, he hoped he would see something to indicate where he was from the top.

His heart sank when he reached the summit and could see no sign of life anywhere, not even the vaguest twinkle of lights to tell him which way to head. Fear clawed at his heart as he realised he had no hope of finding his way back to the city from here.

There was a steep incline off to the left hand side of the hill, and a deep forest that Greg had some hope of hiding himself in. However, he knew getting down there in his weakened state might be a problem; he was still trembling and barely standing, and his breathing was now coming in fast, ragged, gasps causing his heart to thump painfully against his chest.

_But I can try! _he told himself. _I'm dead if I don't!_

There was no doubt in his mind he was as good as dead if Marcus found him.

Carefully, he began the difficult descent. Terror and desperation were driving him forward and he was afraid to look back and see Marcus was following him.

Several times he slid on the rocky incline, tearing his hands on the rough gravel, but not once did he stop. Only when he reached the bottom and the tall shape of the wood loomed over him did some of his wild fear disappear. Gasping and choking, Greg disappeared into the trees.

**xxx**

"Hodges! I need this swab analysed at once!" Grissom demanded, storming through the door of the Trace Lab.

Hodges looked up from his microscope. "But I'm working on some of the compounds from that lab," he answered. "And if you want to find Greg Sanders…"

Hodges, don't tell me how to do my job!" Grissom snapped, half throwing the swab at the technician. "Page me when you get the results!"

"I'm sorry, boss," he apologised. "I only meant…"

But Grissom wasn't even listening, he was already hurrying out of the room and down the hall to the AV lab. The swab was important because he had taken it from Greg's kit; Grissom had an inkling of why the scent dog had been unable to find any trace of Greg's scent in the library a few days before, but he needed Hodges to confirm it.

"Archie!" he called, entering the lab. "Any luck with those tapes?"

"Not yet," Archie replied, turning from the computer screen to face Grissom. "I sent off the car registration and pictures to dispatch but it turned out to be a fake. And I compared the thin guy in the tapes to Catherine's composite like you asked…it's definitely the same guy."

"I thought so," said Grissom. "What about the tapes from the upstairs lab? Any shot of the murder?"

Archie shook his head. "Nothing yet. There was a virus encoded into the computer designed to kick in when anyone accessed the hardware from that particular camera - pretty high tech too - and the whole system crashed when I tried. I haven't been able to debug it yet, but I'm working on it."

"Keep at it," said Grissom. "And let me know when you're done."

Archie nodded and turned back to the screen. Grissom left the room feeling worse than when he had entered. This guy wasn't only some sort of scientist, it seemed he was quite the technical genius too.

_This guy is clever_, Grissom thought grimly. _He covers his tracks well, and he's done everything possible to make this more difficult for us. _

"Grissom!"

He turned as he heard his name being called, and spotted Jackie Franco hurrying down the hall towards him. "What is it, Jackie?"

"You know the unidentified set of prints you found in the lab, dinning room and kitchen in Abrahms' house?"

Grissom nodded.

"Well, those same prints were on the boat Nick found, and on the computer from the secret lab!" Jackie paused to take a breath before continuing. "Now, Nick lifted several fingerprints from a lever in a fireplace or something?"

She raised her eyebrows at Grissom who nodded. "Well, those prints belong to two different people. One is John Abrahms, but the second set of prints are a match to the unidentified ones from the house."

"Those unidentified prints from the other rooms were on the lever _and_ the computer?" asked Grissom sharply. "Jackie, are you sure?"

"Positive."

"And they were the only other prints on the lever aside from Abrahms'?"

Jackie nodded.

_So our giant is the computer hacker_, Grissom realised. "Thanks, Jackie. Is that everything?"

Again, she nodded. "For now, but I'm still processing." She hesitated, then added, "Grissom, is there _any_ news of Greg yet?"

"No," said Grissom quietly. "Let me know when you find anything else, Jackie."

He left her standing there and moved down the hall once more, dimly aware of the familiar twinge of a migraine starting to pick at his skull. Grissom reached his office just as Nick came out of it.

"I was just looking for you," said Nick, turning and following Grissom back into the office. "I managed to get several shots from dispatch of that Chevy and the direction it was heading…it looks like it headed east out of the city, into the desert."

"Good, that narrows our search area a little," Grissom responded. "This guy obviously worked with Abrahms' on a regular basis so I doubt he was actually leaving the area. He probably has another lab somewhere in the desert."

"You know, the idea of a second lab doesn't exactly fill me with confidence," Nick put in uneasily.

Grissom ignored the insinuation. "Have you heard from Catherine or Warrick?"

Nick shook his head. "Not yet, but I was talking to Catherine before she left and I know Mia matched some of those blood samples from the lab to the ones in the boat and on the dock. And she found a match in CODIS for two of the others; both were missing persons."

"Who?" Grissom demanded.

"One was a Jack Wallace from Phoenix, moved to Vegas five years ago. He developed a gambling problem and ended up on the streets, lost contact with all of his family except for one brother. The brother reported him missing when he hadn't heard from him in over two months. That was last year. The other is a Mandy Crenshaw, a prostitute and drug user. She was in the system for possession and assault."

Grissom frowned. "This doesn't fit. Everything about this suggests they picked their victims so they wouldn't be missed, so why take Greg? And why kill your partner?"

Nick shrugged. "Who knows what crazy people do?" he muttered angrily.

Before Grissom could respond, two simultaneous events occurred. Sara entered the room and the phone on Grissom's desk rang.

"I found something!" Sara announced as Grissom leaned over his desk and hit speakerphone to answer the ringing phone. "Good," he replied to Sara before responding to the call. "Gill Grissom speaking."

The tinny voice of an operator filled the room. "Mr. Grissom, I have a call collect for you from Greg Sanders. Will you accept the charges?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Greg was barely holding on as he stumbled blindly through the woods. It had been more than an hour since he'd escaped from Marcus and the mad doctor, yet there was no sign of Marcus coming after him. But that fact didn't alleviate his blind panic.

He was exhausted and ill; his head and body ached with an intensity he didn't think it was possible to feel. It was raining heavily, soaking his clothes and creating a mud bath beneath his feet. The only thing keeping Greg moving was adrenalin and his will to survive.

_SHIT! _he thought in frustration, as he slipped suddenly in the mud. _Just fucking wonderful! Perfect_…_kick a guy when he's down! _Grappling with the nearest tree, he pulled himself to his feet and a broken laugh escaped his throat; hysteria was bubbling strongly within him. The rain was getting heavier, night was falling and worst of all, he had no idea if Marcus was following him. Things couldn't get any worse. He had only gone a few feet when he stumbled and fell again, mud splashing heavily in his face.

_Just cut me a fucking break! _he swore silently, before clambering to his feet.

Greg continued to slide and stumble feverishly through the woods. He was so busy concentrating on staying upright that he didn't notice at first when he suddenly left the crushing closeness of the trees, and arrived at the edge of a road. It was only when he stumbled again and tried to get up that he realised there was no tree for support.

Blinking in surprise, he glanced down the road and his heart soared hopefully when he spotted a phone booth several feet down the road. _Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! _he breathed fervently, hope giving him a fresh burst of strength as he lurched down the road towards the phone.

Falling into the shelter of the booth, Greg's trembling hands lifted the receiver. _Oh, God, please work! _he prayed silently, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard the unmistakable hum of a dial tone.

With shaking fingers, he dialled the operator, barely giving the woman on the other end time to reel off her greeting before blurting out, "I need to place a call collect to Gil Grissom at the Las Vegas Crime lab!"

"And the number, please?" intoned the woman, coolly professional.

Greg rattled off the number to Grissom's office, relieved he still remembered it despite his current situation.

"One moment, please," said the woman, followed by the sound of a phone ringing.

_Please be there_…_Please be there_…

Grissom's voice came on the line suddenly, sounding rushed and anxious. "Greg?!"

Greg collapsed against the side of the booth in relief. "Grissom…thank God!"

"Where are you? Are you alright?" Grissom demanded at once.

"I don't know, and no," Greg answered tiredly. He could hear excited voices in the background that sounded suspiciously like Nick and Sara. Then the voices stopped, and Greg smiled to himself. He could almost see Grissom flapping his hands at them to be quiet.

"Nick, get Archie in here and put a trace on this phone NOW!" he heard Grissom order loudly. "Greg," Grissom addressed him again. "Are you okay?"

Greg shook his head in exhaustion before realising Grissom couldn't see him. "No," he mumbled. He was starting to feel so strange. Weakness overtook him and he slid down the side of the phone booth to the floor.

_God, his head hurt_.

He was vaguely aware of Grissom saying something and tried to answer, but everything seemed to be slipping away. "Can you send someone to come get me?" he managed at last, his voice sounding lost and childlike.

"We're putting a trace on the phone now, Greg, we'll be there as quick as we can," replied Grissom soothingly. "Can you give us any clues as to where you are?"

"I'm…somewhere…it's nowhere, the middle of the desert," Greg rambled incoherently. The adrenaline that had been keeping him moving was dissipating rapidly, and his thoughts were becoming fragmented. He was fighting to stay awake.

"GREG!" Grissom called him sharply.

"What?" he mumbled tiredly. Why did Grissom's voice sound so far away?

"Greg, listen," Grissom's tone was urgent, " I need you to stay awake, please?"

"But I'm so tired," he protested.

"I know, Greg, I know," Grissom's voice was soothing once more. "But this is very important, you have to stay awake."

"I'm awake," said Greg, shaking his head to wake himself up. He made a feeble effort to stand but the ground swayed beneath him and he pitched forward. His hand shot out to stop himself from falling and hit something…_warm?_

Greg looked up and felt every ounce of his blood turn to ice as he saw Marcus standing at the door of the phone booth. "No," he whispered, as the giant yanked him to his feet.

"Greg?! GREG!" a tinny miniature of Grissom's voice was issuing from the phone as Marcus reached towards it, all the while smiling at a struggling Greg.

Something in Greg's mind screamed at him; _the trace! They're still running the trace!_

"NO!" he yelled, and with a sudden, desperate burst of strength, he whacked the giant's hand with the phone receiver.

_Don't let him disconnect you! Don't let him disconnect you! _Greg told himself as he tried to pummel the huge man. Marcus' only response was to growl, and with a movement misleadingly quick for one so big, he grabbed Greg's right wrist…and snapped it.

The resounding crack echoed around the tiny phone booth and Greg was conscious only of a voice wailing in his head and pain searing through his wrist.

Marcus smiled cruelly, gripping the broken wrist and putting unbearable pressure on it. The pain was excruciating and Greg couldn't help it; he gave voice to the howl of agony building inside him. Pain was everywhere; it felt like it would never stop as Marcus pulled down hard on the wrist…and then the world was swirling. Colours flashed neon bright before him and Greg felt himself falling. Strangely enough, his vision became clear as a dirt-smeared floor rushed up to meet him. He hit the ground hard - and then there weren't any flashing colours, there was no dirt-smeared floor.

There was absolutely nothing.

**xxx**

"Greg?! GREG!" Grissom shouted. He could hear scuffling on the other end of the phone and then Greg yelling loudly, "NO!" More scuffling sounded, followed by a loud scream of pain and then the phone went dead.

"GREG!" Grissom yelled uselessly, then tuned to the young man standing frozen in front of him. "Tell me we got a trace, Archie…please tell me we got a trace!"

Numb, Archie shook his head. "I'm sorry, Grissom, but there wasn't enough…by the time I got the equipment up and running…" Archie shrugged helplessly, his voice tailing off as he held up a portable computer.

Grissom glanced over at Nick and Sara, who were standing immobile by the door. Neither looked able to move; they had been so frustratingly close.

Grissom snapped back to his usual professional self at once. Now wasn't the time for shock, he didn't have the luxury of giving into his distress. "Archie, can you at least run that call and try pinpoint an area? Or at least trace the number?"

Archie didn't even respond as he grabbed up his computer and skidded out of the office.

"We know he's alive," Grissom addressed Nick and Sara. "And we know he's probably mobile, that's a good start…"

"A good START?!" Nick exploded. "Grissom, did you HEAR that call? What's the matter with you?"

"I heard it, Nick," Grissom replied coolly, "which is why we don't have time to stand here yelling at one another. We've got work to do."

Nick continued to stare mutinously at Grissom, who sighed and turned to Sara. "What do you have?" he asked her simply.

She was pale and upset looking, but her voice was steady as she replied, " I discovered some information on a Dr. Prescott, who was Abrahms' direct supervisor in Vietnam."

"Go on," Grissom nodded at her.

"He was captured shortly before the war ended, and released when the camp he was being held prisoner in was stormed by US troops…but he was a POW for nearly three months, Grissom. There are no actual records that I could find, but there are hints at abuse within the camp…"

"Dr. Randell already told us all this, but he said the man's name was Dr. Williams," said Grissom, confused.

"_William_ was his first name, and he was dishonourably discharged from the army - for unethical practices on prisoners!"

"What!" exclaimed Grissom and Nick at once.

"There's more," said Sara. "He was Head of Neurosurgery at a private hospital in New York for several years, until it was discovered he was removing organs from dead patients without the families' permission…and carrying out experiments on aborted foetuses."

"This sounds like it could be our guy," Grissom admitted.

"It _is_ our guy," said Sara forcefully. "His niece was Marjorie Prescott…John Abrahms' wife."

"Where is he now?" Grissom demanded.

"William was committed to a psychiatric facility in Las Vegas fifteen years ago by the state," Sara told him, reading the file in her hand. "He was released six years later, but seems to have vanished after that. I have an address for his sister, Catherine Prescott. She lives here in Vegas."

"Call Brass," Grissom told her. "We're going out there."

**xxx**

"I know what time it is," an exasperated Brass told an irritable young man over half an hour later, as they stood in the doorway of a beautiful old house. "And I'm sorry to disturb Miss Prescott like this, but…"

"She's an old woman, over eighty, I shouldn't wake her!" the dour-faced young man insisted.

"I'm _aware_ of that!" Brass practically spat out. "But LVPD would not be here at one in the morning if it weren't urgent. Can you please tell Miss Prescott that we want to speak to her?"

Sara and Grissom stood beside Brass, watching in despair as the stubborn man at the door wasted precious minutes.

"Please!" Sara broke in softly. "We really are sorry to disturb Miss Prescott, but there's a young man's life on the line and we believe she can help us."

"And what would my aunt know of that?" asked the young man coldly.

"Because her brother might have something to do with it!" Brass answered shortly. "Now, are you going to get her up or do I have to do it?"

The young man stared at them suspiciously, his lip curling coldly. "Fine. Wait here!" he ordered, and closed the door in their faces.

"Nice guy!" Brass snorted.

Several minutes passed before the young man opened the door again. "This way," he addressed them curtly, indicating that they should come in. They stepped into the hall, ignoring the distasteful sneer and dislike radiating from the young man. A small, elderly woman with a white shock of hair tied in a bun appeared at the end of a long corridor. She moved quickly towards them.

"The Las Vegas Police, eh?" she spoke loudly, peering at each of them in turn. "Well, come in, come in! Living room's in this way, I'm too old to be standing in the hall making small talk at this hour of the morning!"

She led the way into a large, elegant sitting room and lowered herself into a chair, indicating that they should do the same.

"Miss Prescott, do you recognise this man?" asked Brass, handing her the photograph of the old man who had abducted Greg.

"That's my brother, William. What's he done now?" she demanded in the same loud tone.

"He's responsible for the disappearance of one of our officers," Brass replied.

"Eh?" she peered at him. "Speak up, man. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to mumble?"

Brass groaned inwardly as he realised the woman was slightly deaf, which accounted for her loud tone. In a louder voice, he repeated his question.

"I've been warning you people for years that something like this was bound to happen!" she shook her finger at Brass, glaring fiercely at him. "I warned you that you should have kept William in the Gable institute!"

"What?" asked Brass, unsure if he had heard right.

"First you let him out of that hospital that was keeping him locked up, to wander around preying on innocent people, then you don't even bother to keep an eye on him!" said the virulent old lady, looking as though she was warming to her topic.

"I'm sorry, Miss Prescott," said Brass. "But I'm not sure I understand you. Are you saying that your brother is unstable?"

"Dear Lord, but he's slow for a police officer!" said the old lady, rolling her eyes at Grissom. "Haven't I just told you that I've been saying that for years? But of course no one ever listened to me!"

"Miss Prescott," Brass addressed her. "I'm sorry no one listened to you before. But we're listening now…"

"You're only listening now because you have no choice but to listen," Miss Prescott pointed out.

"You're right, we need your help," Brass acknowledged.

"Of course you do!" she shook her head. "So why don't you just get to the point instead of sitting there withering on?"

"Miss Prescott," Brass began, then hesitated. Just how was he supposed to tell an old woman what he believed her brother to be capable of?

"Well?" she demanded. "Spit it out! No point in trying to spare my sensibilities now…I've been dealing with William for years, I know what to expect."

It was Sara - painfully aware of how time was running out for Greg - who answered her. "We believe your brother has been carrying out experiments on people with another man, fatal experiments."

The old lady sighed, all the fight gone out of her. "That sounds like William. Was the other man John Abrahms?"

The were all startled. "How did you know?" asked Grissom.

Miss Prescott shook her head. "John idolised my brother; William saved his life in Vietnam. He used to get this idiotic star-struck look on his face when ever William was on of his rants that made me want to shake him. Even married my niece, Marjorie, to be part of the family."

"But why would that make you think…" Brass began, but was cut off by the elderly lady.

"I'm old, but I'm not senile!" she snapped. "I watch the news; I saw John's death and I heard about the missing CSI! William hasn't been home in weeks, so when you come knocking on my door asking about human experimentation at some unearthly hour of the morning, I put two and two together!"

"Sorry, I only meant…"

She ignored Brass and turned to Sara. "I like you, you speak your mind. How do you expect me to help?"

Sara showed her a picture of the big man carrying Greg. "Do you know who this is?"

The old lady snorted in disgust. "That's Marcus, my brother's servant…or whatever you want to call him! Awful man. William went to Africa just after he was released from Gable's, and when he came back, that…_ape_ was with him!"

"Why do you dislike him so much?" asked Sara, a cold feeling creeping over her heart.

"Aside from the fact that he watches everything?" the old woman shook her hands in agitation. "Or that he skulks? Hides in the shadows so quietly you can't hear him? He can't speak, only grunt; his tongue was cut out by rebels. It's eerie…most unsettling."

"But surely you can't dislike a man who's own misfortune has rendered him mute?" Grissom asked curiously.

"That is not a natural man!" the old woman insisted. "William has an excuse for his cruelty; he came back wrong from Vietnam. Marcus, on the other hand, positively revels in his cruelty."

"Cruel? How?"

"My nephew, Edmund - you met him at the door - had a horse who was sick. It was beyond help, and William was supposed to call the vet and have him put down humanly; but he gave the job to Marcus. I caught that creature doing things to that horse that you wouldn't even imagine! And he just _smiled _at me when I did!"

The old woman shuddered. "I tell you he is not a normal man," she repeated.

The cold hand was now tightening it's hold on Sara's heart. "Miss Prescott, have you _any_ idea where your brother is now?"

"Haven't heard from him in weeks, not a clue!" the old woman told them. "But if you find William, keep him locked up this time! And that brute who works for him! Now, it's very late and I'm old, are you finished?"

The CSI's nodded. They got up, thanked the old woman and left.

Sara groaned in frustration as they left. "Well, that was a _total_ waste of time! She couldn't even tell us where her brother was."

At least she liked you…" Brass muttered. Sara merely glared at him.

"It wasn't a complete waste of time," Grissom reminded her. "We know beyond a doubt now who has Greg."

"Yeah, but how do we _find_ him?" asked Sara, worry etched in her face and clouding her voice.

"Hey! WAIT!" a voice called from behind them as they reached the Tahoe, and they turned to see the dour-faced young man hurrying down the porch steps towards them.

"I overheard your conversation with my aunt," he admitted, coming to a stop in front of them. "I'm sorry I was rude earlier, but I've seen the way she's been dismissed by the police over the years and it really pisses me off. Besides, she's the only family I have left, so…" he trailed off and shrugged.

"That's okay," said Sara quietly.

"Why did you want us, Edmund?" asked Grissom.

"It's about my father…William."

"He's your father?" asked Sara, shocked.

"By blood only," answered Edmund, an ugly look on his face. "Anyway, before he disappeared the last time, I heard him telling Marcus to make sure everything was set up at the factory. I think he meant one of my grandfather's old factories, most of them are located out in the desert if that helps?"

"Thank you, Edmund," said Grissom gratefully. "You've been a big help."

The young man nodded and returned to the house. Grissom immediately pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

"Who are you calling?" asked Brass.

"Nick," Grissom replied, his phone at his ear. "I want the address for all of those factories _now_!"

_**A/N:** Here's chapter 7, hope you enjoy! And the editing is coming a little faster now so you shouldn't have such a long wait between chapters. Thank you to all the fabulous, wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter...I don't have time to thank you all individually but it's either a general thank you and post tonight, or alot of them and post tomorrow. I'm guessing this is the one you'd prefer! grins Anyway, please let me know what you think!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Nick had just joined Archie in the AV lab when his cell phone rang. Flipping it open, he answered, "Stokes."

"Nick, I need you to run a search on the location of Robert Prescott's old factories in the east and south east regions of the desert," Grissom's voice sounded on the line.

"I'm in the AV lab," Nick replied. "Stay on the line and I'll get Archie to run that now." Quickly, he repeated his request to the lab technician, then returned his attention to Grissom as Archie started typing. "Have you found something?"

"Miss Prescott positively identified her brother as one of Greg's kidnappers," Grissom told him. "The other man is called Marcus. We think they might be holding Greg at one of the factories in the desert."

Archie looked up. "Nick I've got them. There are five factories - all closed - in eastern Nevada." He pointed at the screen. "Three of them are in the region of the phone call Greg made, but I can't narrow the satellite trace any further."

"What about the phone number?"

Archie shook his head. "It's registered as out of service, I can't get the number."

"Grissom," said Nick, returning his attention to the call as he stared at the computer screen. "I've got three possibilities; one just outside Alunite, the other is in Nelson, and the third is about fifteen miles outside Searchlight. Archie is emailing you the addresses now."

"We can be at Alunite within an hour," Grissom told him. "I'll have Brass get some units up to Nelson and Searchlight ASAP. I'll also have him send some units to the other factories just in case."

Nick was staring at the computer screen. Searchlight was the furthest away, it could take nearly four hours to get there.

Nick's gut was telling him to go.

"Grissom, I'm heading to Searchlight," he said quietly.

"Not without backup," Grissom argued at once. "I mean it, Nick. These guys are dangerous, let a unit handle it!"

"The officers will probably be there before me," Nick pointed out.

"I said NO, Nick!"

"Grissom…"

"Brass has just made the turn for Alunite," Grissom interrupted him. "If the building is clear, we'll follow the unit to Nelson. _Stay _at the lab, Nick, we'll keep you posted."

Grissom hung up, leaving Nick staring at the phone in frustration.

"I don't care what he says, I'm going to Searchlight!" Nick told Archie stubbornly.

"Uh, Nick? I'm not sure that's such a good idea," said Archie uncomfortably.

Nick ignored the advice. "If Grissom calls, tell him where I've gone. Warrick and Catherine are due back soon, ask them to stay here in case Grissom needs anything."

And then Nick was gone, leaving Archie staring after him.

"Sure," Archie muttered. "Let the messenger get shot."

**xxx**

Greg awoke to something pulling at him. A voice was speaking somewhere very far away and everything felt dark and cloudy. He made a weak effort to open his eyes but they seemed to have sealed shut of their own accord. Bitter cold was working its way through his body and Greg shivered.

At once, pain shot through him, sharp and fierce. It seemed to be coming from his arm and the piercing agony cut through the fog in his head, clearing his mind somewhat. As he regained his senses, he realised with horror that someone was removing his clothes.

"St…stop!" he croaked feebly and tried to bat the hands away, but his limbs just wouldn't work. Someone was now unbuttoning his jeans and panicked knots formed in his stomach. "Who…re…wha?" he mumbled, using every ounce of strength he possessed to finally open his eyes.

Marcus hovered over him, a leering smile on his face as he tugged at Greg's jeans. A cold breeze wafted over his already bare chest, making the young CSI feel frightened and vulnerable. "N…no!" he choked out, making a feeble attempt to stop the giant.

Marcus merely smiled cruelly and clamped one massive hand on Greg's broken wrist, before squeezing. Hard.

Greg screamed as jagged shards of pain rolled in waves up his arm. Still smiling, Marcus released the wrist and Greg tucked it to his chest. Pain was making him gasp out his words. "P…please…stop."

A cold, displeased voice sounded behind the giant. "You have caused me a lot of trouble, Mr. Sanders, and you have the nerve to ask Marcus to stop?"

Dr King appeared beside the big man, a dark scowl on his face. "You attacked me. Is violence how you repay my hospitality?"

"Hos..hospitality?" Greg gave a short, broken laugh and the doctor's scowl deepened.

"Get those wet things off him," he addressed Marcus. "I don't want my virus contaminated by some common cold!" The doctor moved away and Greg could vaguely hear him rattling with what sounded like test tubes.

More awake now, Greg realised that he was back on the table in the examination room and despair hit him. It had all been for nothing, the miserable, muddy trek through the woods had been for nothing. The trace couldn't have worked; CSI would have been here by now if it had.

Suddenly he was aware of Marcus' cold fingers at his waist, tugging at his boxers. Immediately Greg seized the material to stop him, but Marcus just pinned both wrists to one side with a huge hand. Agony seared through his wrist again and Greg gasped, his gaze unwittingly landing on Marcus' face. The giant was staring down at him with a disgusting leer, enjoying his pain and humiliation.

As the giant started to slide the shorts down, Greg squeezed his eyes shut to contain the tears of humiliation that were threatening to fall. He would not give Marcus the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

When the giant had removed the last of his clothes, Greg lay still, feeling horribly exposed and vulnerable. Despite keeping his eyes tightly closed, he could still feel Marcus' gaze, and his face burned with shame.

"Get him dry and put these on him," Dr King's voice sounded suddenly, and then Marcus was back, towelling him down. Greg kept his eyes closed as Marcus' fingers probed and lingered in places they didn't need to be.

_Please, just let this be over! _he prayed desperately.

He was shaking with cold, fear and humiliation. What had he done to deserve this? When he was finally dry, the giant began to manoeuvre his body like a rag doll while putting on the dry clothes. As he pulled up the pants, his hand rested briefly on Greg's inner thigh.

Bile rose in Greg's throat. _It's nearly over_, he tried to comfort himself. Then he was being pulled into a sitting position and some sort of shirt was pulled over his head. He could feel the giant running his fingers over his chest as he tugged the shirt down and shuddered. _It's nearly over_, he repeated again.

The giant was unnecessarily rough as he pulled Greg's arms through the shirt sleeves, wrenching his broken wrist painfully.

Greg moaned and the doctor's annoyed voice cut across his agony filled haze. "Careful, Marcus! Mind that wrist!"

Greg was lowered back onto the table and Marcus removed his hands. Feeling this, he finally opened his eyes.

Marcus had dressed him in a pair of blue hospital scrubs. He could see the giant's horrible knowing smirk and looked away, feeling violated and degraded. That smile had been bad enough before, but now it was positively monstrous.

Dr. King appeared at Greg's side and started to examine his broken wrist. His fingers were none too gentle as they probed the bruised and swollen skin.

Finishing his examination, the doctor addressed Greg angrily. "Just look at this wrist! Do you know how hard this will be for me to fix? Mr. Sanders, I warned you what Marcus could do…why did you have to be so foolish?"

"Foolish?" Greg repeated in a whisper. "And staying here waiting for you to kill me isn't?"

"Who said I was going to kill you?"

"I'm not stupid," Greg replied weakly, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. All he wanted now was to go to sleep and never wake up.

"No, you're not," the doctor agreed. "But you are foolish. You've caused yourself unnecessary pain and forced me to move the tests up." The doctor paused before continuing, "I want to know who you called, Mr. Sanders. Was it work?"

Greg didn't answer and the doctor nodded at Marcus. The giant stepped forward, grabbed Greg's good wrist and twisted it. Greg's eyes shot open and he stared up in fear at Marcus.

"I'm going to ask you again, Mr. Sanders, and I suggest you answer me if you don't want another broken wrist," the doctor told him coldly. "_Who_ did you call?"

Marcus smiled at Greg and tightened his grasp on the CSI's wrist. It hurt, but the pain was still nothing compared to the agony of his right wrist. Greg was not willing to risk that pain again. "I called my boss, Grissom," he answered quietly.

The doctor smiled in satisfaction. "Did they run a trace?"

Marcus squeezed tighter. "Argh!" Greg cried out. "They tried…but they…STOP!"

The giant was seconds away from snapping his other wrist.

"Did they run the trace?" the doctor repeated, ignoring his pain.

"NO! NO!" Greg screamed. "They would have been here by now if they had!"

"Good," said the doctor and nodded at Marcus. The giant let go of the CSI's wrist, visibly disappointed that he had not been able to do more.

Greg dragged his wrist to his chest. He could see the giant's frustrated expression and realisation hit him. _He ENJOYS causing pain! _

Despite the horrifying possibilities that went with this new epiphany, Greg was too drained to feel any fear. Exhausted beyond anything he had thought it possible to feel, he closed his eyes. His body felt like lead and it would have been a superhuman feat to even lift one arm in the air.

He lay there for several minutes while sleep tugged at him, but was snapped back to reality when pain exploded suddenly in his wrist. Greg wrenched open his eyes. The doctor was probing and manoeuvring his broken wrist once more. He would have screamed if he'd had the strength, but all he could manage was a whimper.

The doctor smiled coldly at him. "I suggest you try to relax, Mr. Sanders. I need to set these bones and it's going to hurt. Maybe it will teach you a lesson or two about doing what you're told…"

**xxx**

Nick drove like a lunatic towards Searchlight. The sun was rising and the Texan set his jaw in a grim line as he realised that they were moving into the fifth day since Greg's disappearance.

The discovery of Dr. Abrahms' secret lab may have been a major breakthrough, but it also carried with it horrific connotations for Greg. At first, they had hoped to find him before he endured such treatment, but after the first few days they were forced to face the reality that they would not find the young CSI unharmed.

The phone call the night before, despite Greg's incoherent ramblings, had given them all new hope, however brief. But now, Nick's stomach was clenching and twisting in knots at the thought of what another day would bring if they didn't find him.

Unconsciously, he pushed his foot down further and the car picked up speed. He could have been driving towards nothing, but that didn't mean he would give up. After all, no one had given up on him.

He had been driving for nearly three hours when his cell phone rang. It was Grissom, who immediately began to yell at Nick when he answered.

"Where the hell are you? I told you to stay in the lab!"

"I'm more than halfway to Searchlight," Nick retorted. "Did you find anything in Alunite?"

"Nothing. We're nearly in Nelson…and the unit has just arrived there."

"They won't find anything," said Nick.

"Don't make assumptions, Nick."

"I'm not. Searchlight is the most isolated of all three factories; if these guys really are using the factories then that's where they'll be."

"And where do you think Greg would have found a phone so far out in the desert?" Grissom responded.

"I don't know, but he obviously did!" Nick could feel his anger at Grissom's unruffled indifference starting to rise. "How the hell can you stay so calm?"

"I sound calm, there's a difference."

"Fine, whatever," answered Nick in annoyance. He wasn't in the mood for cryptic right now. "Did Warrick and Catherine get back to the lab?"

"Yes, and _they_ stayed there," said Grissom pointedly.

Nick ignored him. "Did they find anything?"

"Tire treads, but they're standard issue, nothing unique."

"If this factory search turns into a dead end, have we anything new to help us find Greg?" asked Nick, a little desperately.

"Maybe," said Grissom. "Hodges called me and told me he found traces of Thriazineferate on Greg's kit."

Nick was confused. "I've never heard of it."

"It's a chemical odour that alters sense of smell, it explains why the sniffer dog couldn't pick up Greg's scent at the scene."

"Meaning we wouldn't find the fireplace which gave these guys time to escape," said Nick, grimly. "How does that help?"

"Thriazineferate was developed in the last six months; only one lab in the US produces it, and shipments are tightly controlled because of its potential for drug trafficking. There is a strict protocol for acquiring it and every detail is meticulously recorded. Catherine is chasing down addresses for recent deliveries to Nevada."

"I suppose that's something," Nick admitted. "What about…"

"Hold on, Nick!" Grissom cut him off suddenly.

As his supervisor's voice faded, Nick could hear voices in the background and what sounded like a police radio. Minutes later, Grissom's voice was back on the phone.

"The unit's just called in, there was nothing in Nelson."

"Which leaves Searchlight! I knew it!" cried Nick, slapping the steering wheel.

"Nick!" Grissom's voice was urgent. "There are two units on their way to Searchlight, one is nearly half an hour behind you…Don't go in without backup!"

"Sure," said Nick, only half-listening as he increased his speed.

"Nick! Stay out until the officers arrive! That's an order!"

"That half an hour could be the difference between life and death to Greg!" Nick argued. "Grissom, come on! I'm going to be at that factory in forty minutes!"

"Nick, they could kill you both! Are you listening to me?"

Nick's only response was to hang up the phone.

**xxx**

Greg was weaving in and out of consciousness on the table, his jaw clenched tightly with pain as he cradled his wrist. Doctor King had set the broken bones and bandaged the wrist tightly, coldly informing Greg that he would not waste a cast on him. The whole process had been conducted without painkillers and the pain had been intolerable.

The doctor was now making notes while Marcus watched silently from the corner. In an effort not to look at the giant, Greg studied the room closely, his gaze swimming in and out of focus. He spotted a camera mounted on the wall and realised every torture and indignity he had been through in that room had been recorded. His face burned with shame at the thought of anyone seeing that tape.

Putting his notes away, the doctor approached Greg with a needle and rolled back the sleeve of the scrubs. "Well, this won't work," he mused as he studied the CSI's arms; they were bruised black by the doctor's needles and Marcus' brutality.

Frowning, he swabbed Greg's good wrist and drew blood from there instead. Greg winced in pain, but didn't have the energy to even attempt to pull away. The doctor produced another needle filled with clear liquid.

"What's that?" Greg whispered. He almost wished it were something that would kill him.

"A stronger strain of the virus," answered the doctor without looking at him as he stuck the needle in his wrist. Exhausted and weak, Greg felt its effects within minutes. As the world started to spin, he vaguely heard the doctor instructing Marcus to carry him back to his cell. The giant gave Greg another of his disturbing smiles, picking him up as though he were a child.

The young CSI felt sick terror claw at his heart as Marcus carried him out the door while the doctor remained behind, labelling his blood. He would be alone with Marcus and that thought frightened Greg more than anything the doctor could do to him. He tried to control his breathing as they moved down the hall. Maybe if he pretended to be unconscious, the giant would go away.

After several minutes, Greg felt himself being lowered onto something. He kept his eyes closed but was aware of Marcus standing over him, looking down. His heart started to hammer madly against his chest.

_What's he doing? What the hell does he want?_

Suddenly Marcus grabbed his chin with one hand and Greg's eyes shot open. He was back in his cell, staring straight into the smiling face of a monster.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" he rasped, trying in vain to move away from the giant. Marcus ignored his struggles and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. He bent right down until he was so close Greg feel hot breath coating his skin. He tried to turn his face away but the big man yanked his hair, forcing him to face him. He dangled the handcuffs in front of Greg's face before snapping one cuff around his good wrist, then pulling him into a sitting position on the bed. Forcing the CSI's arms behind his back, Marcus snapped the other cuff around his broken, swollen wrist and yanked it hard. The crack from the newly set bones was loud in the quiet room and Greg moaned in pain. He pulled his knees towards his chest and tried to rest his head against them, but Marcus pulled his face up again.

Marcus' obvious glee at his pain caused something to snap; without realising what he was doing, Greg turned and spat in his face.

The giant's horrible smile changed to a look of fury and with one massive hand he grabbed Greg's throat and slammed his head against the wall. Lights exploded behind his eyes and he tried to cry out but his lungs couldn't get any air. Greg could feel cold fury radiating from the giant as he shook Greg by the throat and battered his head against the wall. Then he grabbed Greg's good wrist with his free hand and bent it back until it snapped. The scream caught in Greg's throat; choking him along with Marcus.

_Let him kill me! Let him kill me! _Greg begged silently. _Just let this be OVER!_

He could feel himself starting to slip away when a voice screamed. "MARCUS! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? LET HIM GO! NOW!"

Air rushed back into Greg's lungs as the giant released him. He fell sideways onto the bed, gasping and choking. Something wet trickled down the side of his face and Greg thought it might be blood, but the world was spinning too fast to tell.

Dr. King was yelling at Marcus. "I said RESTRAIN him not KILL him! It's too soon!" The doctor continued to rant while Marcus glared at him mulishly, but Greg was oblivious to all this.

The pain in his head was vicious, causing waves of nausea to wash over him. Managing to rise up slightly, Greg vomited over the side of the bed. Retching and choking, he heaved miserably before collapsing in a heap, shaking and sweating. There was an odd roaring in his ears that didn't sound like Marcus or Dr. King, and the world had changed from blinding lights to strange shadows.

Someone pulled Greg into a sitting position by his arms, and searing pain infused his cuffed, broken wrists. Moaning with pain, Greg opened his eyes. Everything was swimming in and out of focus, but the one thing he could see with sickening clarity was Marcus' face.

The giant had a dark, furious expression on his face as he lifted Greg up. Seeing the CSI watching him, he expressed his displeasure by using the handcuffs to twist the broken wrists.

The pain was excruciating but brief, toppling Greg into welcome nothingness.

**xxx**

"Nick? NICK!" Grissom yelled into the phone in frustration. "God dammit!" he swore, startling Brass and Sara. Ignoring their questioning glances, he dialled Nick's number again and listened to the ringing on the other end. There was no response, and Grissom knew Nick wouldn't answer again.

Sighing, he reached for the radio. He would have to contact the unit on its way to searchlight.

"Come in, 347," he spoke into the handset. "This is 144, please respond."

The radio cackled to life and a voice answered, "347 responding, over."

"CSI Stokes is on his way to Searchlight and could be in need of assistance. What's your ETA?"

"ETA is sixty five minutes."

Grissom fingers clutched the radio tightly. "Can you get there faster? CSI Stokes may not follow procedure…his ETA is nearly forty minutes."

"Copy that. We'll do our best."

"Nick won't wait for back up?" demanded Brass, as Grissom replaced the hand piece. "What's the matter with him? He should know better than anyone not to enter an uncleared scene!"

"Nicky's not thinking straight," Grissom replied.

"What's there to think about?" said Brass. "If he goes into that building and those guys are there, he could put both his and Greg's life on the line!"

"I don't think he sees it that way. Nick is counting time, not following procedure," said Sara softly from the back.

"Sometimes it's the same thing," said Brass.

"Not to Nick," Grissom replied.

"I really hope we catch these guys," said Brass. "I've seen a lot of crap in my time, but this is just about the sickest thing I've ever seen. It's like something straight out of Nazi Germany!"

"The Nazi's weren't the only ones to exploit human experimentation," Grissom told him. "In 1989, a mass grave was uncovered in Tokyo, human remains from Unit 731; a secret Japanese biological warfare programme."

"I remember reading about that," said Sara quietly. "The main victims were peasants and PoW's, right?"

Grissom nodded. "Human experimentation is something the world claims to have learned from…but while some people mean that they have learned to never let it happen again, others are speaking about the scientific discoveries and medical cures it yielded."

"I guess that's why John Abrahms did what he did," said Sara. "In some twisted way he must have believed it was for the good of everyone."

"Yeah right!" Brass snorted. "If he really thought that then he would have experimented on himself and not on innocent people like…" abruptly Brass' stopped speaking and glanced at Grissom, who was staring stonily out the window. Sara had fallen silent in the back, her face strained and tired.

Brass glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "ETA is now sixty nine minutes."

Grissom focused his tired eyes on him. "Drive faster, Jim."

_**A/N:** Okay, folks, here it is, chapter 8! As always, please R & R, and thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. _

_We're moving into the final stretch! This one took some seriously heavy editing and it's the reason most of the story has been held up (but be nice to it! ;D). I've actually removed a great deal of the more explicit content, and I was thinking of dropping the warning rating to T instead of M, but I'm not sure. What do you guys think? _


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The sun had just about risen when Nick rounded a sharp bend on the mountainous road and a tall, stone building came into view. Realising that this was the factory, Nick braked abruptly and quickly threw the car in reverse.

_If they're in there, no sense letting them know I'm here_, he thought, parking the Denali out of sight. He reached for the door handle then hesitated; his radio lay on the passenger seat, staring up at him accusingly. _Am I doing the right thing? _he wondered, as Grissom's urgent warning rang in his ears. _What if I really am walking into danger?_

Unbidden, an image of a dark, suffocating coffin clawed its way to the surface of his mind and Nick shuddered. He couldn't be confined like that again…helpless. His fingers withdrew from the door handle as he continued to stare at the radio. He could just contact the other units and listen to them telling him to wait for backup, thereby absolving him of the responsibility of going in.

Then another image assaulted his mind; a man strapped to an examination table, screaming and begging for his life while he was dissected alive. Another of Abrahms' tapes telling the horrifying tale of his nameless victims.

But this wasn't just another nameless victim. This was a friend, someone he cared about. Nick swallowed his fear. Not doing anything would leave him every bit as helpless as he had been in that coffin. All he had been able to do then was wait for death or wait to be rescued.

Those might have been Greg's options right now, but they weren't Nick's. Nick was in control, he wasn't helpless, he had a _choice_ this time and he was going to choose action over waiting.

Decisively, Nick picked up his radio. "All units, this is CSI Stokes…I've arrived at the Searchlight factory. No signs of movement but I'm going to check it out." His message sent, Nick switched off his radio to prevent any messages of warnings reaching his ear and weakening his resolve.

Quickly he made his way down the road towards the factory, cursing the morning sun for leaving him so exposed. Reaching the building, Nick was careful to stay pressed against the wall and out of sight of any windows while he looked for a door. He came across an emergency exit but it was chained shut. The chains looked new and strong.

Swearing silently to himself, Nick continued to look. The large main entrance was the next door, but one look at it and Nick decided against opening it. The door was large and slightly rusted, and he knew there was a possibility it would make noise if opened…and the last thing Nick wanted to do was announce his arrival to anyone who might have been in the factory.

Reaching the far side of the building, he continued moving silently along by the wall. He was just getting frustrated when he spied a small, open window. Cautiously, Nick peered through the glass.

Inside was a deserted office. The door was shut, giving him the opportunity of getting in unseen. Quietly, Nick clambered through the small window; cursing and gritting his teeth when his broad frame got stuck.

_Shit! Fuck! Move! _he roared at himself, as he tried to wriggle through the window. Red-faced and straining, Nick gave one mighty heave and pulled himself gracelessly into the room, landing with a bump on the floor.

Grimly pleased with himself, he unholstered his gun and moved silently towards the door. Silently, he turned the knob, heaving a breath of relief when it opened. Peering through a crack in the door, he could see the main hall of the factory. Huge, silent machines stood ominously in the massive room and sunlight streamed through the high windows, hitting the imposing structures and creating large pockets of shadow.

The atmosphere was quiet and uneasy, but Nick welcomed it. The large shadows created by the machines offered Nick plenty of hiding places to get through the room unseen. Quietly he eased out of the office and moved through the hall, careful to keep his eyes open for any signs of movement or other rooms. After several seconds, he spotted a door at the far end of the hall. It looked suspiciously like an emergency exit door, and Nick's mind flashed back to the door chained from the outside. Was it an emergency stairwell?

The CSI decided a stairwell would leave him too exposed and cast his gaze around the room again. His eyes alighted on a door almost hidden behind one of the machines just ten feet to his right. Swiftly, Nick moved over to it and peered through one of the glass panels into a dark hallway.

_Perfect! _he thought and opened the door. About to slide into the dark corridor, Nick froze when he heard a panicked scream. His head shot around wildly in the direction of the cry.

_What the fuck was that? _

Another blood curling scream followed, and Nick stood with beating heart in the silent room as he tried to determine where it had come from. His stomach lurched when he realised the cries were echoing through the emergency exit on the far side of the room.

_Of course! The storage areas in the basement!_

Moving as quickly as he could without making any noise, Nick crossed the room to the emergency exit. Carefully, he opened the exit door and saw that his guess had been right; there _were_ stairs! Alert and watchful, his gun at the ready, Nick edged into the stairwell.

**xxx**

Harsh, painful reality jerked Greg out of welcome nothingness. Agony, agony like nothing on earth, was tearing through his body, forcing him to acknowledge it. The pain was beyond endurance. Greg couldn't help it, despite his battered, exhausted state, a loud scream was wrenched from his lungs.

Opening his eyes, he could see Dr. King and Marcus moving frantically around him, but their outlines were blurred and undefined. Trying to focus, he could see they were working on his wrists, yanking and pulling them as though they were putty. He screamed again as vicious, violent pain assaulted him once more.

"BE QUIET YOU STUPID BOY!" the doctor yelled at him and Greg froze. It was the first time the doctor had spoken to him in anything other then calm, unflustered tones, and Greg realised the doctor was panicking.

"Marcus, you fool! You idiot!" the doctor screeched suddenly, dropping Greg's right wrist and snatching up his left wrist. Greg bit his lip to suppress the cry of pain, but a frightened whimper still trickled out. "Look at his wrist! Snapped clean through! How am I supposed to fix this without x-rays?" The giant, a furious expression on his face, never moved, and Greg wondered why he didn't attack the doctor.

"And even if I could," the doctor was still ranting, "that last break probably severed an artery! He's no good to me now! My perfect specimen, ruined!"

Greg looked down at his wrists and felt his blood turn to ice. His wrists were swollen, bruised and distorted. Numb shock momentarily drove away the pain as the CSI stared at his disfigured wrists.

His horrified gaze returned to the doctor and Marcus who were both staring at him now, a look akin to that of a predator studying its meal. Greg saw the look of silent murder in their eyes.

_I'm going to die here, I really am_, he realised, a painful lump forming in his throat. He had hoped for death many times over the last few days when things had become too much, but now that it came to it, he didn't want to die. Not here…not alone…not like this. Greg tried to swallow the lump in his throat and tears pricked his eyes. Would it really matter now if Marcus saw him cry?

Suddenly, the doctor walked over to the counter. Greg could hear him rattling around opening presses and banging glass beakers. After several minutes, he appeared at Greg's side, a very large needle in his hand. "Arms and hands are useless," he muttered, shooting a dark look at Marcus. Yanking the collar of the hospital scrubs down, he stuck the needle in Greg's throat and emptied its contents.

"I am going to organise my equipment and scrub up," the doctor addressed Marcus coldly. "Get him prepped, but this time ensure that you do nothing that will jeopardise this part of my experiment!" Spinning around, Dr. King stormed out of the room.

At once, Marcus turned and looked at Greg. Pure, unadulterated evil lit up his face and he moved towards him.

"N…n…" Greg tried to choke out, but his voice had finally deserted him.

His hands utterly useless, and his body too battered to fight; he just lay there as the giant stared down at him, smiling at his misery.

Marcus lived his whole life for torture; he thrived on causing torment and pain. It didn't really matter who the victim was, Marcus enjoyed causing pain regardless, but there were some victims whom he relished tormenting more then others. The young man on the table in front of him was one of them.

It was that innocent quality, a slightly naïve air, - something Marcus had never had and never understood - which made him want to destroy them.

Terrified brown eyes stared back at him, and the monster laughed a silent laugh. The most innocent ones never understood why it was happening to them. Their fear and confusion was his aphrodisiac. It excited him to see how far he could go before destroying them utterly, and it fascinated him to see how different each victims' breaking points were. Marcus smiled cruelly. He knew _exactly_ what would break the young man in front of him and reached down.

As soon as Greg felt the giant start to grope him, he shut his eyes and turned his head away. He would die shortly, be murdered by the very people he should have been hunting down, and the last few minutes of his life were going to be spent in pain and humiliation. The young CSI tried desperately to keep it together, but it was useless. Tears streaked down his cheeks and ragged sobs shook his chest.

_I don't deserve this death! _he thought, as he broke down completely. _I'm a good person! _

The giant responded to his distress by groping harder and Greg squeezed his eyes tighter. The giant then leered and slipped his hands into the hospital scrubs. Greg could feel his fingers crawling downwards and shuddered, bile threatening to explode in his throat. But before Marcus could go further, an angry scream filled the room.

"TAKE YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HIM!!!"

Greg opened his eyes in shock.

He knew that voice! Unable to see what was happening through his blurred vision, Greg squinted desperately and what looked like a wild-eyed and furious Nick Stokes came into view. He was standing in the doorway with a gun pointing directly at Marcus. The giant had withdrawn his hands and was staring, dumbfounded, at the raging CSI.

His vision blurred again and, try as he might, Greg couldn't make himself focus. He thought the drugs the doctor had given him were making him hallucinate. Nick wasn't here, no one was coming to save him. He was supposed to die, right?

**xxx**

Nick listened carefully, but the screaming had stopped. The stairwell led up as well as down, and he wasn't entirely sure which way to go. His gut was telling him to go with his original instincts and check the basement. Hesitant, Nick put his back to the wall and stepped cautiously onto the first step, being carefully to keep his eye on the upper as well as the lower stairwell.

He became aware of excited yelling and stopped to listen. It was an angry yell, not like the terrified screams he had heard minutes before.

_Downstairs, definitely downstairs! _he decided, and continued to edge downwards. Then the yelling stopped and Nick froze, listening carefully. Footsteps were stomping down the hall, and Nick pointed his gun at the door, afraid that someone might come through it and discover him. However, the footsteps faded, heading in the other direction. Nick relaxed a little, but he was still careful to keep his guard up.

He reached the bottom of the stairwell and carefully eased open the door below. It led into a long white corridor that reminded Nick of a hospital. Hearing the screams had made him think he was in the right place; seeing this had confirmed it.

_Well, I found the bastard's lab! Now, I just have to find Greg_…

Every nerve in his body straining and adrenaline pumping through him, the CSI moved slowly down the hall. He pushed open the first door on the right with his shoulder, keeping his gun at the ready. The room was dark and empty. Another door stood across from that, and he had only just started to push it open when the sound of someone crying broke the silence.

Nick followed the sound of the desperate sobbing to a set of large swinging doors halfway down the hall. There were two small glass panels on the doors and Nick shot a quick glance into the room before ducking back. There was definitely someone in that room.

He chanced a longer look the second time and got the shock of his life. Greg was lying on a table in the middle of the room. His face was turned towards the door and his eyes were squeezed shut. Tears were rolling down his face and his lips were quivering. The huge man loomed over him, his back to the door.

Red, poker-hot anger surged through Nick as he realised exactly what the big man was doing. Without even thinking, he burst into the room screaming; "TAKE YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HIM!!!"

Coming to a halt just inside the door, Nick stared at the scene in front of him. Two pairs of eyes stared back at him; one furiously astonished, the other in terrified shock.

"Move back against the wall! NOW!" Nick barked at the giant, who obeyed, his eyes on the gun.

"Face the wall and keep your hands where I can see them!" Nick ordered, not taking his eyes of the giant, but longing to look at Greg and see if he was okay.

The giant did as he was told and Nick kept his gun pointed at him. "Greg, are you okay?" he asked in a low voice.

There was no answer. "Greg?" Nick repeated, his fear growing.

After several seconds, his fear got the better of him and he couldn't help it; he looked down at Greg. The younger CSI was watching him with out-of-focus eyes, and Nick realised that he didn't know he was there.

But that was Nick's mistake, he looked for too long. Out of nowhere, a foot came flying, knocking the gun from his hands. Nick heard it scrape across the tiled floor as he turned to face the angry giant.

_Jesus Christ! This guy is huge! _thought Nick, ducking a vicious punch. He darted to one side as the giant lunged at him, and threw a hard punch of his own at the big man's head.

It connected with its mark. Growling in anger, Marcus turned on Nick and threw a quick upper cut, whacking his chin and making the CSI see stars. While Nick was stunned, Marcus picked him up and threw him bodily across the room, sending him crashing into one of the trolleys. Dazed with pain, Nick shook his head and saw the giant running at him. Quickly, he kicked the trolley at Marcus, sending it flying into him. The giant stumbled but didn't go down. Nostrils flaring and still grunting, he ran at Nick like a charging bull. Quick as a flash, Nick picked up a large glass beaker from the floor and flung it straight at the giant's face. It smashed on impact and Marcus stopped charging, his mouth open in a silent howl of pain.

_THE GUN! _Nick's mind yelled at him. _Where's the gun? _Quickly, the CSI scanned the floor and spotted the gun just in the corner. He dove for the gun just as Marcus charged again and his fingers closed around it. Twisting from where he lay on the floor, Nick fired.

Marcus staggered back, clasping his shoulder. Nick could see blood spreading over his shirt as the giant looked at him in shock. The shock only lasted a second before the cold rage that Greg had experienced when he spat at Marcus appeared. The giant's face twisted with rage, making him appear inhuman and he charged again.

This time, Nick took aim and shot the big man in the leg. Once more the giant staggered back but didn't go down. Instead, he charged again and Nick fired again.

The bullet connected with his stomach and Marcus stumbled backwards, gasping and panting. Nick, still lying on the floor, kept his gun trained on the big man. _That'll stop him!_ Nick reassured himself.

But Marcus stood up straight and stared down at Nick, smiling his awful smile. _What the fuck?_ thought Nick, as the giant started to walk towards him. Nick fired again - another shot in the shoulder - but Marcus was like a zombie from some horror movie and continued walking like he didn't even feel it.

"Why won't you die, you bastard!" Nick yelled, firing several shots as fear got the better of him. His last shot hit the giant in the throat and Marcus stopped moving as blood spurted out. Clamping his hand to his throat, the giant fell to his knees. His expression as he looked at Nick was one of mingled shock and anger.

Shakily, Nick clambered to his feet while the giant gasped and choked, before slumping forward onto the floor. Nick kept his gun trained on him for several minutes until the dark pool of blood spreading out beneath him convinced him that Marcus really was dead.

"Who are you?" a cold voice demanded, and Nick spun around to see an elderly man in hospital scrubs standing beside Greg, a gun pressed tightly to his head.

Nick froze instantly. "Drop the gun!" the old man commanded.

Nick put his gun carefully on the floor, not taking his eyes from Greg or the old man. Greg, he noticed fearfully, had lost consciousness.

"I asked you a question," said the old man, studying Nick. "Who are you? What gives you the right to come in here to _my_ lab and slaughter my employee?!"

"_What gives me the right?!_" Nick spat incredulously, and gestured at Greg. "He does!"

"My experiments are none of your concern," the old man told him coldly. "This is my property and you have no right to be here!"

Nick's eyes popped in his head, and he stared stunned at the old man. "Your experiments?! Your…_property_?!"

The old man's eyes narrowed dangerously at Nick. "You know, Marcus only damaged the test subject, made him unsuitable for most of the remaining tests, but _you've_ just ruined the entire experiment!" He pointed the gun at Nick now. "Maybe I should just shoot you instead?"

Nick just glared at the doctor with disgust. "You really are completely mad, aren't you? You have no clue just how depraved every one of your sick little experiments were, do you? You and John Abrahms!"

The doctor's hand shook a little. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice nervous. "How do you know about John?"

Nick remained silent. Several minutes passed, and suddenly the doctor smiled. "Aha, you're one of _them_!" - he gestured at Greg - "A CSI! I saw you at the crime scene…you were the one who got all panicked when you couldn't find him!"

"You were watching us?"

"Of course," the doctor smiled. "I had left something of importance in the library and returned for it, only you were already there. I was worried until I saw it would be Mr. Sanders processing the library."

"Why?" asked Nick tightly, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he glanced at Greg's pale, unconscious face.

"Because he's so young! The perfect physical specimen for my tests; but naïve enough and untrained enough for Marcus to overpower him!"

Nick felt sick. "What did you do to him?"

The doctor smirked. "My experiments are classified."

Nick exploded. "I don't give a shit about your fucking experiments! What did you DO to him?!"

The doctor smiled coldly. "It no longer matters because I could not complete my tests. I was getting ready to perform an autopsy when you came bursting in here."

"Autopsy?" Nick choked out.

"Yes. It's incredible what you can discover if you dissect a person before they die. It's how Mr Sanders here will die."

"Over my dead body!" Nick growled furiously.

"That can be arranged," said the doctor, and he began to pull the trigger.

"LAS VEGAS POLICE! FREEZE!" a voice roared. Startled, the doctor took his eye off Nick just as he pulled the trigger. Nick dove for the floor and heard another shot ring out.

The doctor dropped to the ground, howling in pain. "You shot me!" he screamed, clutching his shoulder, while two uniformed officers entered the room. One quickly kicked the doctor's gun away from him.

"You okay, Nick?" the older one asked as Nick got shakily to his feet. The younger one cuffed the doctor.

"Yeah, thanks, Boone," Nick answered. Then he remembered Greg.

"Greg!" he cried and dashed over to the table. The young CSI was deathly white. Fearfully, Nick reached out a hand to check for a pulse and paused in shocked horror when he saw the disfigured wrists. "Jesus Christ!" he managed, sickened.

"Is he okay?" asked Boone.

His hand shaking, Nick placed two fingers on Greg's throat. Relief washed over him when he felt a pulse, but it was worryingly faint.

"Call the paramedics, quickly!" he ordered.

"It's already been done," said the younger officer. "We radioed the hospital in Searchlight once we heard the gunshots. They'll be here in less than ten minutes."

Nick nodded, his jaw clenched painfully. It was then he realised how cold Greg felt. "Dammit!" he hissed, shrugging off his jacket and covering him with it. "Boone, have you got any blankets in your car?"

"In the trunk," replied the older officer. "Laney, can you get the blankets and radio the other units? Let them know we've found Greg and apprehended the suspect." He glared down at the doctor, still squirming in pain on the floor. The doctor stared balefully back.

The young officer nodded, his face a little green as he glanced at Greg. Then he dashed out of the room.

Several long minutes passed while Nick waited for the officer to return. The only sound in the silent room was Greg's laboured breathing. Nick felt a cold shiver run through him with every ragged gasp. "Just hang on, Greggo," he said gently. "You're safe now, we found you and the EMT's are on their way."

There was no response. Nick glanced at his watch. _Where the hell are those paramedics? _he thought urgently, glancing back at Greg's face. It was then he noticed the bruises around his neck and the bloody welt on his head. Cold fury washed over him and he shot a vicious glance at the doctor. _Fucking bastard! _

The young officer reappeared carrying the blankets. Nick grabbed them at once and began to cover Greg with them.

"The other unit has arrived," the young officer told them breathlessly. "They're securing the perimeter. And Captain Brass is almost here."

"Good," Boone nodded. "As soon as they get here, we can finish securing the building."

"You can finish securing the building," Nick told him. "I can watch the doctor."

Boone grinned, but there wasn't a trace of humour to be found in the grin. "No offence, Nick, but I was ordered not to let you out of my sight once we found you."

"Ordered? By whom?" Nick demanded.

"Me," said Grissom's voice, and Nick turned to see his supervisor hurrying through the door, Brass and Sara right behind him.

"How's Greg?" asked Sara anxiously.

"Not good," Nick responded. "Where are those paramedics?"

"They'll be here any minute," Brass told him. "Boone, Laney," he addressed the two officers, "finish clearing the building."

"Yes, sir!" they chorused and left the room.

Brass turned his attention to the doctor on the floor. Reaching down, he hauled him to his feet. "William Prescott, you are under arrest for the kidnapping and attempted murder of Greg Sanders, and the suspected murder of John Abrahms."

"I've been shot, I need the hospital," the doctor responded coldly.

"So I see," said Brass grimly. "Tell you what, how 'bout I drive you myself? That way I can make sure you don't die and I get to see you go to jail for every scumbag thing you've done over the years."

Brass was leading him out of the room just as the paramedics rushed in. They wasted no time in assessing Greg and moving him swiftly onto the gurney.

"Will he be alright?" Nick asked anxiously.

"I really don't know," one of them answered honestly, as they began to wheel the gurney out.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Nick demanded, following them.

"I mean we don't know!" the paramedic snapped back. "Those wrists are bad, there's a possibility of internal bleeding. Now, can you move? We need to get him to the hospital."

Nick swallowed as the cold fear returned. What if he wasn't on time after all?

"I'm coming with you," he told them tiredly.

_**A/N:** Okay, that chapter was SHAMELESSLY Nick to the rescue but I couldn't help it...I think he makes a much better hero than victim!!! Hope you all enjoyed it, there's only one more chapter left! And I'll try to get it up quicker if you review (hint, hint!) ;-)_

_Massive 'thank yous' to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (and for your responses on the rating) it is very much appreciated (even inspired me to work on another CSI fic, but that's a while off being completed...it's so dark it's scaring me!!!)_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Nick paced restlessly back and forth in the waiting room, ignoring the irritated glares of the nurses. He had been waiting for over eight hours for news on Greg, and the CSI was starting to go stir-crazy. Greg had not regained consciousness in the ambulance or responded to any stimuli, and Nick could tell by the concerned expressions of the paramedics that his condition was serious. As soon as they had arrived at the hospital, Greg had been whisked away and Nick had heard nothing on him since.

_But he couldn't be dead, someone would have_…

Nick swallowed as he tried to push away the disturbing thought. He had been buried alive, the odds stacked against him, but he was still here. Greg would be fine.

His phone rang loudly and Nick hastened to answer it. It had been ringing incessantly once word had spread that Greg had been found, and Nick suspected that the phone rather than his frustrated pacing had much to do with the nurses' glowers.

"Stokes," he answered the phone abruptly.

"How's Greg?" Warrick's voice sounded on the other line.

"Still no word," Nick sighed, throwing a hopeful glance in the direction of the swinging doors through which Greg had been taken. They remained resolutely shut.

"Has Grissom arrived yet?" Warrick asked.

"No, why?"

"We finished processing the scene about three hours ago. Grissom went straight to the hospital…insisted the rest of us go home and get some rest."

"Did you?"

Warrick snorted. "No! We're at the lab examining the evidence. There was a camera in that room, we're about to line it up now."

Nick's heart sank with a sickening thud as he remembered the scene that had greeted him when he first found Greg. "Warrick," he said quietly. "Do me a favour, don't play those tapes yet."

"What! Why? Nick, they're evidence!"

"I know, but Greg might not…we don't…look, please just trust me on this, okay? Don't let anyone view those tapes, not until we've talked to Greg."

Nick sounded so grim and insistent that Warrick sighed and agreed. "Okay. But, Nick, do _me_ a favour? Call me the second you get some news, and then get some rest?"

"Will do," Nick promised. "See you later."

"Bye."

Nick snapped his phone shut and turned around to resume his pacing, only to find his path blocked by Grissom. He froze, and the two men stared at each other for a long minute before Grissom spoke.

"Why don't you want anyone to see those tapes, Nick?"

Nick dropped into the chair behind him, his eyes on the floor. He wasn't sure how to answer; Warrick he could put off easily, but not Grissom.

Grissom sat down beside him. "Answer me please, Nick."

"I just think we should wait, let Greg decide…"

"Nick, those tapes are evidence. We have to view them."

_Damn Grissom and his evidence! _Nick thought furiously.

In a low voice, he addressed the entomologist. "Not everyone needs to see Greg being treated like that. He might not want people to know if he was…" Nick broke off abruptly, not wanting to voice his thoughts.

Grissom narrowed his eyes at Nick. "What do you mean he might not want people to know? Know what?"

Nick remained silent.

"Nick, what's going on?" Grissom demanded. "You're a witness now, we're going to need your help putting the pieces together. And those tapes will have to be watched, whether you like it or not…Greg is not the only victim here," he finished gently.

Nick sighed. "I know, Grissom, I know. Look, it's just…that big guy? I saw him doing something…"

"Nick, we know Greg was experimented on, he wouldn't be here if something hadn't happened."

"No, not that…" Nick hesitated. "This was more…personal."

Grissom frowned darkly he realised what Nick was saying. After several minutes, he nodded at him. "I'll make sure Archie and I are the only ones to see those tapes."

"Thank you," said Nick quietly.

They sat in silence, watching the clock. Another hour passed and still no news on Greg. Nick got to his feet and began to pace restlessly once more. Every time his phone rang, he disconnected the call. Eventually he switched it off altogether.

Grissom was watching his actions with shrewd eyes. "Nick, what's going on?"

"What?"

"This," Grissom answered, waving his hands. "You've been on edge ever since Greg went missing."

"We're all on edge, Grissom."

"You're also being irrational."

"How am I being irrational?"

"For one thing, you disobeyed a direct order from me. You left the lab and went to Searchlight without backup, then you entered an uncleared scene alone. Those are not the actions of someone who is thinking straight."

"Thinking straight?" Nick repeated, his voice rising by several octaves. "_THINKING _ straight?!"

"Nick, keep your voice down! This is a hospital."

Nick growled with frustration. "There you go again, Mr. Professional! Grissom, Greg just spent the past five days as a human guinea pig! Don't you care?"

"Of course I do, Nick, that's not the issue."

"Then what is?"

"You are! Nick, you are not Superman. You can't go rushing to everyone's rescue like you're invincible!"

"I never said I was…"

"Then why did you go out there without back up? You put yourself and Greg in very real danger."

"Grissom, they were going to _kill_ him!"

"And help was on the way! What if those officers hadn't got there on time? What if the doctor had shot you?"

"He didn't."

"That's not the point, Nick," said Grissom, rubbing his eyes. He needed to make Nick see the danger he had put himself in, what the consequences of his actions could have been.

Nick paused when he saw just how tired Grissom looked, and realised that the older man was just looking out for him, not giving him a lecture. "Grissom, I know I should have waited for back up, but there just wasn't time."

"Nick, the officers were on their way, you could have waited twenty minutes!"

"No, I couldn't! Grissom, they were prepping him for autopsy, a _live_ autopsy! If I'd waited, we'd be at the morgue instead of the hospital right now!"

"What?" said Grissom, unsure if he had heard right.

"The doctor told me," said Nick. "Right before the officers burst in."

"And right before he nearly shot you. Nick, I'm glad that everything worked out and you prevented the doctor from…" Grissom's voice trailed off and he looked both disturbed and sickened. After several seconds, he returned his attention to Nick. "But you didn't know any of this before you burst into that room, did you? I understand that you were worried about Greg, but…"

"But that's just it! You don't understand!" Nick interrupted. "Grissom, you have no idea what it's like to be trapped, to think you're going to die…to _want_ to die rather than wait for help to come because the waiting might just drive you insane!"

Nick stared at Grissom, and the older man saw traces of that haunted look that had lingered in Nick's eyes for weeks after being hauled out of the grave. "You're right," he said. "I don't know what it feels like."

Nick exhaled through his teeth. "Grissom, I see your point and I know I should have waited, but you need to understand that I _couldn't_ wait. You don't need to understand why, just…" he floundered as he tried to explain. How could he put this into words?

Grissom stared at him with pity. "You don't need to explain to me, Nick. I just don't want you to put yourself in danger like that again, and I need you to see that."

"Excuse me, Mr. Stokes?" a voice interrupted them. Nick whirled around to face a short man whose name badge read _Dr. Kelly_.

"Doctor! Any news on Greg?"

The dark-haired doctor frowned in response. "I'm afraid his condition is critical. Mr Sanders has a viral infection that seems to be attacking his central nervous system."

"What sort of virus?" asked Grissom, as he stood up beside Nick.

"I'm not sure yet," the doctor admitted. "We only realised there was a problem in surgery; Mr. Sanders started to haemorrhage and his temperature spiked..."

"Wait!" Nick interrupted. "Why was he in surgery?"

The doctor sighed. "His wrist bones were snapped clean through and there was extensive damage to the surrounding arteries and nerves. He required surgery to repair the damage and stop the bleeding, but his wrists will probably need to be reset several times over the next couple of months. It's going to be a long and painful process."

"Will he be able to use them again?" asked Nick anxiously.

"I'm afraid it's too soon to tell. It would require assessing Mr. Sanders over several weeks to see how his nerves heal…but of more concern at the moment is the virus; it's weakening his major organs and his lungs in particular aren't holding up well. There is also the added complication of a concussion, so we have to be careful about what we give him."

"Will he be okay?" asked Nick, fear clamping down hard on his heart.

The doctor shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, but his chances aren't good."

Nick felt as though a truck had hit him in the gut and he sat down hard in a chair. He might not have been on time after all, Greg might not be okay.

The thought crushed him.

"Is the virus contagious?" Grissom addressed the doctor.

The doctor shook his head. "No. It seems to activate once inside the host, but we're not sure how it gets there. We know it's not airborne, but that's all we really have at the moment."

"How soon before you know anything else?" asked Grissom.

"We're waiting on some blood tests to tell us more about the virus and how to treat it, but they'll take a couple of hours. Until then I really can't tell you anything more, I'm sorry."

"Where is Greg now?" asked Nick. He could feel his hands shaking and clenched his fists in an effort to stop it.

"He's in the ICU," the doctor answered.

"Can we see him?"

"Ordinarily, I would say no," the doctor told him. "But Mr. Sanders regained consciousness shortly before the surgery, and became so hysterical we had to sedate him. He seemed extremely traumatised and I can only imagine what he's been through…if he regains consciousness I think it might be a good idea if there were a familiar face in the room."

_If_. The word rang horribly in Nick's head. He stood up and faced Grissom.

"You go," Grissom told him before he had even spoken. "I understand."

Nick smiled gratefully. "Where will you be?"

"The lab," Grissom answered. "I'm going to look through Prescott's notes, there might be something there about the virus that will help Greg."

Nick nodded his agreement as the doctor spoke up. "Mr. Stokes, do you want to follow me?"

Grissom watched as Nick disappeared through the swinging doors, pausing long enough to wave to Grissom. The CSI removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn't over yet.

**xxx**

He's in here," Dr. Kelly told Nick. "I have to go, but the nurses are just outside if you need anything."

Nick nodded as the doctor set off back down the hall. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and entered the room. Slowly, he approached the bed and bit his lip.

Greg looked terrible. Nick could handle the tube down his throat and the heart monitor beeping steadily by his bed; he had expected them, they were keeping Greg alive. What he hadn't expected was how pale Greg looked - almost bloodless - and how haggard his face was, as though he had aged several years overnight.

"I'm sorry we didn't get there sooner, Greg," Nick said quietly as he slid into the chair beside the bed. "But I promise, you're safe now."

The only response was the beep of the heart monitor.

Nick leaned forward and stared at the young CSI's wrists, heavily bandaged on the bed. He wondered if Greg came out of this would he be able to work again. More to the point, would Greg _want_ to work again?

Nick let out a bitter sigh. This wasn't over for Greg. If he woke up, the ghosts of his memories would haunt him, creeping up on him when he least expected it. It only took something simple to stir them, and then the cold hand of terror would clutch at his heart, turning the blood in his veins to ice. Nick was horribly familiar with those ghosts, and he knew only too well that soon Greg would be too.

The Texan put his head in his hands. He was so _tired_ of this; of seeing people hurt each other, do things to each other that he couldn't comprehend. He had felt the pain and fear that went with being the victim of those actions, he didn't want to have to watch a friend feel it too.

_Where does it end? _he wondered.

The world was getting harder, and Nick Stokes was getting tired of looking for sunshine in a dark hole.

**xxx**

"Is there any news?"

"How's Greg? Will he be okay?"

"What's the word from the hospital?"

The barrage of questions hit Grissom as soon as he got back to the lab. He avoided them as best he could, but there was no lying to his own team. They knew him too well and saw it in his face as soon as he walked into the evidence room.

"How bad is it?" Catherine asked quietly.

"Bad," Grissom answered. "He's in the ICU. The doctor gave him something, and the hospital don't know what it is. Is there any reference to it in his notes?"

"We haven't really looked at them yet," Warrick replied honestly. "Nick was so adamant that we shouldn't watch the tapes that we decided to leave the notes too."

"The tapes won't tell us anything," said Grissom, remembering his promise to Nick. "But the notes might save Greg's life."

Nobody said anything, but each CSI reached for a file. Picking them up, they started to read. Several minutes passed before Sara spoke up. "Hey, I think I've found something!"

Everyone looked up. Sara was frowning at the paper in front of her. "The doctor was injecting Greg with a lab manufactured virus - his own from what I can see here - over the past few days. His comments indicate that the virus had some unpleasant side-effects; migraines, fever, blurred vision, physical weakness…but nothing to suggest it was lethal." She looked up. "So why is Greg in critical condition?"

"Because he was infected with a second virus," said Grissom, and they all turned to look at him. "The second virus should also have been harmless, but the doctor combined it with the first to see how they affected one another."

"What does that mean for Greg?" Sara demanded.

Grissom sighed. "A virus injects DNA into the host's cells. It fuses its membranes with that of the host cells, before dumping its genetic content into the healthy cell's interior and hijacking the cells replication machinery to duplicate itself. However, the DNA of both these viruses are designed to destroy each other. And because they're using Greg as their host, they're disrupting his central nervous system causing his cells to turn on one another."

"So his own body is poisoning him," said Catherine quietly.

Grissom nodded, scanning the file in his hand. "There's nothing in here on how to stop it."

"But there has to be something in one of these files," Sara argued, studying the pile on the desk. "For something to evolve like that, he has to have been creating and testing it for a while…"

"…meaning there has to be an antibody," Grissom finished. "Everybody, start reading."

**xxx**

"Mr. Prescott, how's the arm?" Detective Jim Brass asked as soon as he entered the hospital room.

The doctor glared at him from the where he lay, his good arm handcuffed to the bed. "It hurts."

"Good," said Brass, sitting down in a chair. Sofia entered the room behind him silently, shooting furious eyes at the doctor although she didn't say anything.

A stern-faced man in a suit on the other side of the doctor's bed spoke up. "My client is recovering from a gunshot wound, but he has still agreed to answer your questions. I would appreciate it if you spoke to him with more respect."

"I'm not looking for your appreciation, and I'm _definitely_ not looking for his," Brass answered sourly.

"Do you want to continue with this interrogation?" the lawyer challenged him coldly.

Brass stared impassively back. "Your client is responsible for the kidnapping and attempted murder of one of our officers, who is now fighting for his life about three floors above you. He's in no place to bargain…and neither are you."

The lawyer fell silent, shooting the detective a venomous look.

"Mr. Prescott," Brass addressed the man in the bed. "Are you ready for our questions?"

"Actually, it's _Dr_. Prescott," he replied.

"My definition of a doctor is someone who heals people," Brass told him coldly. "You are not a doctor."

Dr. Prescott's face turned white with anger and he pursed his lips. "I'm not willing to speak with someone who doesn't respect my position."

Brass turned to face his lawyer. "We have video evidence of this man experimenting with John Abrahms on innocent victims. We also have a video tape of him kidnapping Greg Sanders, not to mention the CSI he tried to shoot. Do you want to explain his position to him or should I?"

The lawyer leaned in and whispered something in the doctor's ear. There were furious mutterings between the two men for several minutes before William Prescott scowled and returned his attention to Brass. "What do you want to know?"

"The first thing I'd like to know is where are the bodies of your other victims?"

The doctor shrugged. "I have no idea. It was Marcus who disposed of them when I was finished and, thanks to your CSI, he's not alive to tell you."

"Didn't you even care that they might have family who were looking for them?" Brass asked, disgusted.

"I knew they didn't. That's why they made the perfect test subjects, no-one would ever miss them."

"What about Greg Sanders?" Brass demanded. "The entire police department have spent the past five days searching for him. He was missed, why take him?"

The doctor's face took on a dreamy quality. "The problem with those other subjects was that they were all flawed in some way. Drug addicts, prostitutes, alcoholics…it meant there was always a factor that interfered in some way with my results. Mr. Sanders, on the other hand, was perfect. Young, healthy, clean…he was exactly what I wanted to take my research further. So when the opportunity arose, I just couldn't resist. He made a wonderful test subject until Marcus damaged him."

Brass looked at him, sickened. "How the hell could you do that to another person?"

"Quite easily, I assure you," the doctor answered. "Medical research requires sacrifice if it needs to make developments, and the medical community needs to see that."

"You're joking, right?" Sofia interrupted suddenly, her eyes wide with shocked anger. "You think it's acceptable to use innocent people as human guinea pigs to search for cures you might never find?"

The doctor studied her coldly. "Yes I do. I don't expect people like you to understand, your mind is too unrefined, but the possibilities in regard to medical advances are infinite...we just need to consider the bigger picture."

Brass held up his hands. "You know what? I don't want to hear any more of this. You're either the coldest person I've ever met, or the craziest!"

"They say there's a fine line between reason and insanity," the doctor answered. "But where do we draw that line?"

"I don't know and I don't really care," Brass snorted. "Either way, you've crossed it! Tell me about John Abrahms."

"John? He was my partner."

"Then why did you kill him?" Brass wanted to know.

"Who said I killed him?" the doctor smiled.

Brass shrugged. "We don't know for sure that you did. But the cameras we recovered from that house will tell us who did kill him, and I'm betting it was you."

"Well, then you'll lose. I didn't kill him."

"Who did?"

"Marcus."

"And you had no hand in it," said Brass sceptically.

"I gave him a little something so that he would be more agreeable," the doctor told him. "But I didn't stab him."

"We found no drugs in his system," said Brass.

"It was something of my own devising, designed to be in and out of the system in under an hour."

Brass shook his head. "I don't understand, why did you let Marcus do it? I thought Abrahms was your partner."

"He was, but he refused to branch out. Granted, he was better than most doctors at taking risks, but he still refused to take healthy specimens. And unless you have a control in your experiments, they don't really tell you much."

"That's why you killed him?" Sofia demanded.

"John was developing a conscience of sorts," the doctor answered, not looking at her. "He refused to let me expand our research by acquiring better test subjects, and he felt guilty about the tests he carried out on the Daniels' girl. It was only a matter of time before he cracked, he had to go."

"And you think having a conscience is a bad thing?" Sofia asked, struggling to keep her voice calm. "A conscience is what stops us from committing murder, from hurting others. You think we should go against our nature by having one?"

"A conscience _is_ against our nature," the doctor pointed out. "It's morally imposed on us by society, our true instincts are primed to survival."

"And you think those instincts support human experimentation, do you?" Brass asked, his eyes never leaving the doctor's face.

"If it means we can find cures to the diseases which threaten us, then yes."

"And how many cures did your little experiments uncover?"

"A few," the doctor answered defiantly, raising his chin proudly. "And my research helped pave the way to other cures as well."

"So where are these miraculous cures?" Sofia demanded. "Because I didn't see them! All I've seen come out of your work is death and misery!"

"Sofia!" said Brass in a warning tone.

You want my cures?" the doctor addressed her. "Go look at John Abrahms research! Now I'm done, I shouldn't have to justify my work to you…do you have to justify yourself if you kill a criminal in the line of duty?"

"Actually, yeah, we do," Brass retorted shortly. "How did Marcus fit into all of this?"

The doctor remained silent and Brass shot a look at his lawyer who leaned forward once more and whispered in the doctor's ear.

The doctor sighed. "I met Marcus in South Africa. He was part of a band of thieves that tried to rob me and the party I was travelling with. Unfortunately for them, they were caught and arrested. At the station, I witnessed him break the arms of another prisoner and realised his potential…the officers were only too happy to have him released into my care; he was white, mute, no papers, no past - a ghost really - and they didn't know what to do with him."

The doctor's face broke into a sad smile. "He was a wonderful creature, I've never met another human who embraced his baser instincts so fiercely! He was perfect; loyal, strong and intelligent."

"What did _you_ do to deserve his loyalty?" asked Brass.

"You mean aside from the fact I educated him? Gave him food and shelter?" The doctor shrugged. "I gave him the opportunity to develop his interests."

"And what were his interests?"

"Causing pain," said the doctor. "I let him watch the experiments, gave him the test subjects to play with if they were still alive when I was finished…I even allowed him to participate sometimes. He was perfect and I'm sorry to lose him. I doubt I'll find another servant so suitable."

"I wouldn't worry about that," said Brass. "Where you're going, you won't need a servant."

"I'm not going anywhere," William Prescott said coldly.

"Don't count on it!" snorted Brass.

**xxx**

A loud, shrill whine woke Nick from a deep sleep.

At first he thought his alarm was going off, but then he heard shouting and his head jerked up. The whine belonged to a heart monitor.

Greg was in cardiac arrest.

Nick was shoved roughly from the room as doctors wheeled a crash cart in. He watched in shock as the doctors yanked the covers off Greg and ripped open his gown. Nick's mind went blank. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be.

He watched as they applied the paddles and Greg's body snapped under the electrical charge. No response and the doctors were still shouting.

_Please, God, please! _Nick found himself praying, something he hadn't done in a long time…not since before the coffin. Greg's body arched on the bed a second time as the doctors shocked him again. The shrill whine was still ringing in Nick's ears, deafening him.

A third charge of the paddles and Greg's body was lifted clear off the bed, his head rolling lifelessly to one side. Nick closed his eyes and held his breath…and then he heard it.

Beeping.

His eyes opened. The doctors had stopped shouting; they were still working on Greg, but their movements were less panicked than before. Blood pounded in his head and Nick released the breath he was holding. Greg was alive, his heart back in the fight to survive.

A nurse pushed him into the hall from his position in the doorway. "Is he okay?" Nick demanded as she closed the door.

"I don't know," she answered. Then she was gone, hurrying down the hall.

"Thanks for the help," he muttered sarcastically.

"Nick?" a voice sounded behind him and he turned around to find Sara standing there.

"What are you doing here?" Nick asked.

Sara raised her eyebrows and studied Nick intently. "What am _I_ doing here? What are you still doing here? Didn't you go home to sleep?"

"What are you talking about?" Nick was baffled and glanced at his watch. His jaw dropped. _Seven am! I've been here all night!_

"I…uh…guess I slept here." Nick scratched his head.

"How's Greg?"

Nick turned to face the closed door. "I don't think he's doing too well."

Sara placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We worked all night in the lab, going over Prescott's notes. We found a cure for the virus, Nick."

Nick's head snapped around to look at her. "What?"

"He's used it before, on other victims. The antibiotic was there in his notes. Grissom has just given everything to Dr. Kelly."

Nick felt hopeful for the first time in hours. "So he's going to be okay?"

"We don't know yet, it depends on how he responds to treatment." She watched as Nick's face fell. "Nick, can we talk about this?"

"About what?"

Sara hesitated. "The way you've been acting…"

Nick cut her off. "Don't even start, Sara!" he snapped. "Grissom's already had a go at me!"

"Well then, maybe that should tell you something!" Sara snapped back. "Nick, you're a CSI; you don't save lives, you process death! But the past few months you've been behaving as though you can bring people back from the dead!"

Nick was furious. "Is this because I went to Searchlight? Is that what this is about? Because if it is then you can stop right there! Greg's a friend and I wasn't going to just sit around and do nothing!" He stopped and stared at her angrily. "You know, you're becoming more like Grissom every day!"

Sara looked hurt. "Greg's my friend too," she said quietly. "And none of us were just sitting around and doing nothing, we were working on the case…the same way we did when you were missing."

"This isn't about me."

"Yes it is! A couple of months ago, you wouldn't have behaved like this!"

Nick snorted in disgust. "Of course I would! This wasn't an ordinary case, Sara, the victim was someone we knew!"

"It's not just this case, Nick, remember Cassie McBride?"

Nick fell silent and Sara shook her head. "You attacked a suspect, refused to believe a victim was dead when all the evidence suggested otherwise, and you didn't listen to me then when I told you how dangerous hope is in this line of work."

"But I was right, Cassie was alive," Nick protested.

"But what if she hadn't been?" Sara persisted. "What if Greg hadn't? What then? Nick, I know we all have cases that we get a little too emotionally invested in…but you've been doing it with _every_ case lately, and it's too much! Nick, you're heading for burnout."

Nick stared at her uncomfortably as some of her reasoning began to trickle into his brain. Sara saw his expression. "You can't save everyone," she told him quietly.

"I was saved."

She gave him a crooked smile. "It wasn't your day to die, remember?"

"Maybe." Nick stared at the door of Greg's hospital room for a minute, then returned his gaze to Sara. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to snap, I know you're trying to help. It's just…Sara, you don't understand how helpless being that victim makes you feel, how useless…" his voice trailed off and he returned his gaze to the closed door.

"Would you have changed places with Greg if you could?"

"What?!" Nick's head snapped around and he stared at Sara, shocked by her sudden question.

"Well? Would you?"

Nick remained silent for several minutes before nodding. "It might be easier then facing him when there's nothing I can do that will make things…oh!" His eyes grew wide and Sara smiled sadly.

"Sometimes it's harder to watch someone we care about suffer," she said softly. "Especially when there's nothing we can do. Believe me, Nick, I understand."

**xxx**

Something was buzzing, humming even. The noise was irritating and Greg Sanders groaned. Were those flies buzzing in his ear? He tried to bat the noise away but his arms were heavy…why couldn't he lift them? Muted whispers trickled into his consciousness; one of them sounded familiar but he couldn't place it. Fragments of thoughts drifted through his mind and Greg snatched desperately at them trying to make sense of why he couldn't move. One of the whispers was louder now…someone was calling him.

The fog in his head started to separate slowly. An image of a large man leering at him flashed into his mind.

_Marcus!_

His heart thumped painfully as he remembered where he was. Afraid to open his eyes, he could feel his arms start to tremble a little. But then the familiar voice sounded again, louder than before, and another memory wafted into his mind…Nick standing in a doorway, yelling at Marcus.

Greg swallowed. Had he imagined that? Tentatively, he opened his eyes and a fuzzy image of a white ceiling and walls greeted him. Crushed, he closed them again. He was still in his cell. He _had_ imagined it.

"Greg!" he could hear the familiar voice - Nick's voice - calling him, and wanted to cry with frustration. _Stop taunting me!_

But the voice wouldn't let up. It kept calling him, the tone urgent. Tired and resigned, he opened his eyes and nearly jumped out of his skin when the blurry face of Nick Stokes hovering above him came into view.

"Nick?" he croaked, hoarse, disbelieving.

"Sure is, buddy. Welcome back to the land of the living!" Nick's voice sounded again, relieved and _real_.

Blinking, Greg moved his head to the side. _White walls, white ceiling…hospital! _Something in his brain clicked. I'm not dead?" he whispered, looking back at Nick.

Nick shook his head. "You're in the hospital."

"Oh."

"How are you feeling?"

Greg thought about it. He felt heavy and tired, but there was no pain. Why didn't his wrists hurt? Panicked, he shot a glance at his hands, breathing an audible sigh of relief when he saw the heavy bandages. _They're still there_.

"Anaesthetic," Nick told him, reading his thoughts. "Doctors thought it was best if you couldn't move your hands for a while."

"Oh."

"How are you feeling?" Nick asked again.

"I don't know yet," Greg answered quietly. "How long have I been here?"

"A couple of days, you were pretty out of it."

"What happened?"

Nick shifted uneasily. "What do you remember?"

_Too much_. But he answered, "I remember the doctor and…Marcus." Greg swallowed as he said the name.

"He's dead," Nick replied at once. "The doctor is in custody."

"Oh." There was that word again; useless, ineffectual, but perfect when there was nothing else to say.

"Greg? Are you okay?"

Greg stared at him. He wasn't sure how to answer. The last few days had been such a roller-coaster of terror, pain and desperation that he had no strength left to feel any emotion. He was surprised really. He would have expected to feel relief or happiness, something, _anything_, but there was nothing. Just this blank tiredness.

"I'm…I don't know."

Nick sighed and dropped into the chair next to the bed. "You're tired, right? Drained?"

"How did you…?" Greg's voice trailed off and he sighed. "The coffin."

Nick nodded, his jaw tensing. "It'll be a couple of days before anything sinks in."

"So I won't feel like some kind of zombie then?" said Greg, with a bitter laugh. "Shame, I kinda like feeling nothing."

Nick winced at the uncharacteristic tone of Greg's voice. "Greg…"

"Don't, Nick!" Greg cut him off. "I'm not ready for some sort of self-help bullshit…it's too soon!"

"I've been telling myself that for the last couple of months. 'Take time to heal, Nick, then you can deal with it.' But you know what, Greg? It's like mould; if you ignore it, it just grows and grows until it's damn near impossible to shift."

Greg closed his eyes. "I'm too tired for this now, Nick. Please, just leave it, alright?"

"Okay. But, Greg, think about what I said…it gets harder the longer you leave it."

Greg didn't answer and kept his eyes shut. The Texan remained silent until the even breathing of the younger man suggested he had fallen asleep again.

Nick sighed. He felt like such a prick for pushing the issue when Greg was barely conscious, but he had to prepare him.

Nick knew exactly how much the next few days were going to hurt.

**xxx**

"This is a bad idea."

"It's what Greg wanted, let it go."

"Don't tell me you _agree_ with this?"

Nick turned to Warrick and gritted his teeth. "It's what Greg wants, so yes, I agree with it! Let it go, Warrick."

"I still don't see how this will help," the tall man muttered as Nick returned his attention to the interrogation room in front. Through the glass he could see Greg sitting silently in a chair, his back to them, staring at the table in front. Both arms rested on the table, the heavily bandaged wrists clearly visible. His left leg was twitching restlessly, but it was the only outward sign of the nerves Nick knew he must be feeling.

It had been three weeks since Greg was found, and he had only been discharged from the hospital a few days before. After their first conversation, Nick had been worried that Greg hadn't listened to him. The young CSI had been silent and reticent, refusing to answer any questions about his ordeal; and Nick could see himself all over again, shutting down and pushing everyone out.

But then he had driven Greg home from the hospital. After unpacking some groceries and putting on a pot of coffee, he had walked into his friend's living room to discover him standing in front of the TV, staring at it.

The TV was off.

"Grissom told me you didn't let anyone watch the tapes," Greg had said softly, without turning to look at him.

"I didn't think you would want everyone to see them."

"I didn't…I mean, I don't. I know that Grissom and Archie have to see them, but…"

"No-one else needs to see you like that?" Nick finished quietly.

Greg gave a motion between a shrug and a nod. "If they saw those tapes then I'd always be the victim. I'd see it in their eyes every time I looked at them, and that makes it harder to forget."

"You'll never forget." Nick winced. It had hurt him to admit that to Greg, but in the long run the truth would hurt less than a comforting lie.

Greg turned around to face him and Nick could see emotion on his face for the first time in days. Pain and anger mixed with fear and frustration. "Then how the hell am I supposed to get over it? When does it get any easier?"

"When you face it."

"Not this crap again! You sound like Oprah or something. Did Oprah tell you how to make it all better? How to take the pain away? Fuck! Maybe I should start watching daytime TV more."

Nick stayed silent while Greg continued to rant at him, his anger spilling over. "Did all that self-help crap give you back your life? Huh? Did it stop everything from feeling so fucking surreal?" He took a step towards him. "It's supposed to be that easy, is it? Bullshit, Nick!"

"No, it's not! And I never said it would be easy."

"Nick, just tell me something I can use…please!" Greg begged, his face crumpling.

"I can't tell you anything," said Nick, feeling desperately sorry for him. "Everyone deals with shit differently and only you know what will help you."

Nick snapped out of his thoughts as the door of the interrogation room opened and William Prescott was led in. That scene in Greg's apartment had brought them here. Nick had pushed him to it, but in the end it was Greg who had decided that he needed to face his kidnapper if he was to ever move past this.

Nick could feel Warrick tensing beside him as a very surprised looking Prescott was pushed into the chair opposite Greg. He knew Warrick wasn't the only one who didn't like this idea, there were several other people in the lab who had voiced their disapproval. Nothing good would come of it they maintained.

Nick wanted to tell them all to go screw themselves.

"Mr. Sanders," the doctor's voice sounded. "You were the last person I was expecting to see."

"Because you thought I'd be dead?"

"Well, no. My lawyer told me you were alive," the doctor admitted.

Silence.

"Why did you want to see me, Mr. Sanders?"

"I want to know why."

The doctor smiled. "Still with the questions. It's a funny quirk of human nature to always want the answers…"

"So answer me!" Greg's voice rang in the room, edged with frustration.

"I wanted to help people. Cure disease, prevent illness."

The doctor smiled and, from behind the glass, Nick could feel himself clenching and unclenching his jaw. _Smug bastard!_

"By causing it?" Greg asked in a low voice.

The doctor shrugged. "We have to be prepared to make sacrifices if we're to make advances…it's the way of medical science."

"I didn't ask to be anyone's sacrifice!"

The doctor gave him an odd look of pity. "No, I don't suppose you did. But for what it's worth, your sacrifice would have given me wonderful results."

"It's not worth shit!" Greg spat. "Why me?"

"Because you were there."

Nick could see Greg stiffen visibly in the chair and imagined the shock that would be on his face. He felt his heart wrench with pity for the younger man. He knew what he was thinking; all that pain, all that fear had been because of something so stupidly random. Greg had been the one to go to the library, he had been the one who was in easy reach of Marcus, he had been kidnapped just because he was there.

_Like me_, thought Nick, remembering how an idle coin toss had been the reason he was buried alive in a glass coffin. The realisation of that had haunted Nick for days, the 'what-ifs' endless. What if he had won the coin toss? What if Warrick had gone to the scene? What if that officer had never gotten sick and taken his eyes of him? _What if, what if_…the world ran on these seemingly random occurrences and coincidences.

The doctor's voice brought him back to reality. "You're very quiet, Mr. Sanders. I take it my answer wasn't what you wanted to hear?"

"You kidnapped me, you…tortured me, just because I was _there_?" Greg's voice was low and shaking. "How could…why would…Jesus!"

"What were you expecting me to say?"

Greg was silent. His body was stiff and shaking. After several seconds, Nick saw his head drop and his shoulders slump. "I don't know," he whispered. "Not this."

The doctor reached out a cuffed hand to pat one of Greg's, but was instantly pulled back by the officer in the room as Greg recoiled. "Don't _touch_ me!" he spat.

The doctor sighed. "I'm sorry it's not what you wanted to hear. But then again, the answers to our questions are almost never the ones we hoped for. It's why we keep searching."

"What about Marcus?"

"He was my servant. He did what he was supposed to do."

"What about the other…stuff?"

This time Nick could hear pain in Greg's voice and winced.

"What can I say?" William Prescott shrugged. "He liked to hurt people…although I daresay that isn't the answer you wanted to hear either."

"So that's it?" said Greg quietly. "It's that simple to justify what you did?"

The doctor looked irritated. "You know, I had the exact same speech from your Detective Brass…and I'm going to tell you exactly what I told him; I don't have to justify my work to anyone!"

"Justify your…?" Greg's voice trailed off and he fell silent. Nick could tell he was trying to process the doctor's explanation.

Several long minutes passed and there was no word from either Greg or the doctor. Eventually, William Prescott smiled and asked, "are we finished already?"

There was no response. Greg sat with his head down and his shoulders hunched over, like the weight of the world was pressing him into the ground.

"Mr Sanders?" the doctor addressed him once more, but Greg still didn't answer. His hands started to shake a little.

Nick was watching silently. As soon as Greg's hands started to shake, he left the observation room and rapped on the door of the interrogation room. The officer looked up and Nick indicated he should bring the doctor out.

As the two men reached the door, Nick opened it and shot the doctor a vicious look. Seeing the peaceful expression on the man's face made him wish that looks could kill. He wanted to murder the man with for all the hurt he had caused.

"I want to know something," Greg's voice sounded suddenly and three heads swivelled back to look at him, still sitting at the table. His face was pale and determined as he stared at the doctor.

"You told me I would never be found…why didn't you ever tell me your real name, was Dr. Prescott?"

The old man gave a bitter smile. "I don't like my name and what it represents; commercialism, industry…concepts that have nothing to do with learning or knowledge. So I chose a name I thought best suited my profession, King."

"That's it?"

"Disappointed again, are we, Mr. Sanders?"

Greg looked back down at the table and Nick faced the officer. "Get him back to his cell!" he ordered through gritted teeth. As the doctor was led out of the room, Nick approached his friend. He hoped Warrick had the sense to clear out of the other room and give them some privacy.

"Greg?"

The younger man looked up. He was pale and exhausted looking, and his eyes held a look that Nick was only too familiar with. "He still thinks he did nothing wrong."

"Were you expecting an apology?"

"No. I just thought…I hoped…I don't know, Nick, I guess I just expected something more than this."

"You okay?" asked Nick with concern.

"Not particularly." Greg sighed miserably. Everything felt horribly unreal and the thought of doing anything normal ever again was incomprehensible. Life was something that happened for others now.

Nick smiled sadly, guessing his thoughts. "It might not seem like it now, but life does go on. And the best way to get it moving is to jump straight in. You've taken the first steps…don't you at least feel something for having faced him?"

"This that closure thing again?" Greg joked weakly.

Nick shrugged. "I suppose. I know _I'd_ be feeling pretty triumphant if I were in your shoes right now."

Greg cast his eyes down to his bandaged wrists and then at the door through which the doctor had exited. "I think I'd feel better if I'd pounded his ass! But I suppose I don't feel so helpless anymore."

"You're not helpless!"

"No, I don't mean…I just mean I don't feel like such a victim anymore." Greg shrugged and gave Nick a crooked smile. "Facing your fears and all that."

He fell silent and Nick patted his shoulder. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

They were halfway down the corridor before Greg spoke again. "Nick, thanks for everything, I really appreciate it."

Anytime, Greggo."

Greg bit his lip. "I'm sorry I was such a jerk the other night," he said softly. "I didn't mean to be so nasty about…what happened."

"You weren't a jerk, you were just scared."

"Would you think I'm a wuss if I said I still am?"

Nick shook his head as they stepped out into the afternoon sun. "I think I'd be more worried about you if you didn't feel scared. It's gonna take some time to shake that feeling, Greg."

"How do you do it?" asked Greg as they crossed the parking lot. "Everything that's happened…you still seem so together."

"I was raised on the idea that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"I feel like such a coward beside you."

Nick shook his head. "The bravest people are cowards. What's so brave about facing something that doesn't scare you? Greg, there aren't many people who could have done what you just did. Trust me, you're no coward."

They reached the Denali, and Greg stared at Nick over the roof as he unlocked the truck. "You want to get a beer?"

Nick looked up, surprised. "What's brought this on?"

Greg shrugged. "You said I have to live if life is to move on."

"That's not exactly what I said. I want you to get back on your feet…but I don't want you to push yourself before you're ready."

"You're not. I just…I just want to do something normal again."

"Okay then, where do you want to go?"

"I get to pick the bar?" Greg queried, his eyebrows raised. It was usually Nick who picked the watering hole.

"I think you've earned it."

"Do I get to pick the music?" asked Greg, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't push it!" Nick warned, grinning against his will.

"Spoilsport!" Greg chortled as he sat into the Denali.

It was the first time he had laughed since his kidnapping, and Nick smiled. He was delighted to see a trace of Greg's old humour. He opened his door and raised his face to the sky before sitting into the SUV. The warmth of the sun grazed his face and Nick felt strangely peaceful for the first time in months. Greg was willing to accept what had happened and get on with his life; it made Nick realise that while it might get dark sometimes, there was always light at the end of the tunnel.

"Okay, Einstein," Nick smiled, starting up the truck. "Let's go get that beer."

_**A/N: **__Okay, here it is the final chapter! Shamelessly dramatic and angst ridden... and the damn thing nearly drove me around the bloody twist so please, let me know what you think. And thanks a million to everyone who reviewed all along; it made the insanity worth it!_


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